The Reason I Hold On
by Zane's Girl- Jo
Summary: A chance encounter with a young, green-eyed American marine sends Ziva David on a journey, through the olive groves of Israel, to the moors of Ireland, and finally, to the headquarters of NCIS. And to a beginning she never knew existed. Eventual McGiva. AU. Yes, another one of those stories.
1. Chapter 1

**The Reason I Hold On **

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Summary: A chance encounter with a young, green-eyed American marine sends Ziva David on a journey, through the olive groves of Israel, to the moors of Ireland, and finally, to the headquarters of NCIS. And to a beginning she never knew existed. Eventual McGiva. AU. Yes, another one of _those_ stories. **

_Tel Aviv, Israel_

_June 1997_

The sound of fighter jets flying overhead sent a rumble through the street. She was used to the rumbling, to the jets dashing about the skies above, to the sight of Marines in Uniform wandering the streets. Not their Marines, but the marines of the United States. She and her younger sister stayed as far away from them as possible, only speaking when one of them approached and spoke first. Though she had spent her formative years growing up around the American men- and occasional women- and had become accustomed to seeing them in the coffeeshops, on the bases, walking the streets and didn't think anything of it.

Although, this time, she was surprised, to walk into her favorite coffeeshop and find a man in Marine fatigues and tans, sitting at her favorite spot, back near the bookcase, a cup of coffee and a book open on the table.

_This was no problem, all you have to do is go over and tell the man that this is your spot, and to find somewhere else to sit. Easy._ Squaring her shoulders, she strode towards the table, stopping next to it, waiting until he looked up. Several minutes passed, before he finally sensed someone was watching him, and he lifted his gaze from the book in front of him.

"Yes?"

She opened her mouth to speak, and stopped. "You are-" His eyes were the brightest shade of green she'd seen. In a country of browns and ambers, the man's green eyes were a welcome and refreshing change. He waited, but she didn't say anything more.

"Can I help you?" He asked, and that seemed to snap her out of her staring. She started, shaking her head quickly. She turned back to him.

"Um..." _Why did you come over here again? Oh, right._ "You are in my spot." He stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She floundered for a moment, caught up in his green eyes again. "This is my table. I usually sit here when I am... here." She finished, realizing how lame she sounded. He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips, that only made her confusingly angry.

"Really?" He asked. She nodded. "Well," He looked around, lifting his book and cup to check the tabletop before moving back to check under the table and getting up to examine the chairs. "I don't see your name on it. And you weren't here when I got here. So you're out of luck for today." She narrowed her eyes.

"Very funny. It does not need my name on it, because I always sit here. This is my table. So you must move." He chuckled softly.

"I don't think so." He replied, returning to his book. "You're going to have to find another table-" She slammed her bag on the table, leaning close.

_"Will you listen to me?"_ She snapped. Once again, her famous temper had gotten the better of her; she really needed to get it under better control, but then again, she was the Deputy Director's daughter, and was known for losing her temper when people ignored her. It was one of the reasons her older brother Ari had refused to tutor her in English Literature this summer. That and the fact that Ari was bouncing around England all summer, and wouldn't be back until the holidays.

His head snapped up, and he stared at her, green eyes wide. She opened her mouth, but once again, those green eyes got her to forget. He waited, but when she didn't speak, he closed his book and sat back. Her eyes flicked to the title-_ Lolita_. "You read Nabokov?" He nodded.

"Yeah. He's one of my favorite writers. Well, him and Doyle and Hemingway." Her head snapped up and she met his gaze again.

"Hemingway?" He nodded once, picking up his coffee. "What is your favorite novel of his?" He sighed, setting his cup down and pretending to really ponder the question.

"Hmm... I guess... I'd have to say that... that my favorite Hemingway novel is _For Whom the Bell Tolls_. Followed closely by _The Sun Also Rises_." Her eyes widened and she smiled.

"That is my favorite novel."

"_Sun Also Rises_?" She nodded, eagerly, dropping into the chair across from him. She reached into her bag, rummaged around for a bit, and then pulled out a well-worn and much-read copy of the novel in question. She handed it to him, and he took it, quickly skimming through it, whistling softly in appreciation. "It looks like a very well-read and much-loved copy." He replied, handing it back to her. She grinned, dark eyes glittering with happiness at his praise. They fell into silence, before he realized who he was talking about and quickly gathered up his book and stood. "Well, I had better get out of here so you can have your table back."

"No, will you stay? Please?" She turned to him as he left, causing him to stop. He turned back to her, searching her face before returning to the table. Once he was seated across from her and the coffee ordered and delivered- of which he paid for- they sat in silence. "How old are you?" She asked, after a moment. With his bright green eyes and baby face, he couldn't be any older than twenty or so. He swallowed, licking his lips nervously.

"I..." He gave her a nervous smile. "I turn nineteen in September." Her eyes widened in surprise. So he was young. Younger than twenty, like she'd guessed.

"And you are in the Marine Corps." She said, confused. He nodded.

"I enlisted as soon as I graduated. The Marine Corps is what's putting me through school. I... graduated a year early, at seventeen, and I'm going to start attending MIT in the fall. I graduated a few weeks ago from John Hopkins University." She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow. What did you study?"

"Biomedical engeneering." At her confused look, he waved it away. "Science stuff." He seemed to curl in on himself for a moment, before asking, "If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?" She took a sip of her coffee.

"I am sixteen- or, I will be in November." He nodded, silent. "What is wrong?" He shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

"Nothing. You just look older than your age."

"And you look younger." She replied. He ducked his head. They sat in silence before he finally asked,

"What do you study, besides the basics?" She sighed.

"Well, my older brother Ari was supposed to tutor me in English Literature this summer, since I start at Tel Aviv University in the fall, but he is in England, going to school and will not be back until the holidays." He raised his head.

"English Literature?" She nodded. "I love literature. Or... I could tutor you, if you like, is what I meant. My mother is an English Literature professor at Harvard. So I am... very familiar with the subject." She seemed to brighten, excited.

"Would you?" He nodded once, sipping his coffee.

"Of course. Where and when would you like to start?" She got up, rushing to the bookcase behind their table. "Okay, we'll start now." He muttered, watching as she quickly scanned the titles, and pulled one down, handing it to him. "_The Great Gatsby_." She nodded, returning to her seat.

"The story is so sad; Daisy and Gatsby are so in love, and yet, they are forced apart by the past and their own faults." She said, sitting back as he opened the book and skimmed it. He chuckled.

"I wouldn't say that, but that's just me." As they got down to work, she found herself focusing more and more on him than on the literary work. He was certainly young, and looked even younger for his nearly-nineteen years. His fair skin suggested a European background or even Canadian; and he was tall, with a quick wit and even quicker mind to think up questions that she hadn't even realized he'd been asking. Despite how young he looked, he was cute, and she found herself wanting to flirt with him.

At one point, another Marine entered the coffeeshop, looking around before his eyes landed on the table in the corner. The man made his way to the table, stopping a couple feet from it, taking in the conversation and fit of laughter the two were in. "Lance Corporal McGee." The Marine's head snapped up, and he took a deep breath.

"Sergeant Wilkins." He replied, straightening. His companion's eyes widened. He was a Lance Corporal in the Marines? She didn't know much about the American Military, but she did know the various ranks- from studying the various wars and their leaders and generals- and knew that Lance Corporal was two steps up from Private, and two down from Sergeant. So this kid was bright- obviously bright enough and talented enough to rise through the ranks by nineteen. Despite his age and appearance, he obviously commanded a good measure of confidence- enough that the American Military saw fit to give him the appropriate rank.

"You are needed back at base, McGee." He nodded, thanking him in that soft-spoken voice of his.

"I will meet you outside, Sergeant." Once the man was gone, he turned back to her.

"You have to go?" She asked, a part of her not understanding why their conversation had to be cut short. He gave her a small, sad smile.

"Yeah. I wish I didn't-" He stopped, glancing at her before getting up and grabbing his things. He started to leave, before he stopped, and returned to the table. Setting his worn, much-read copy of _Lolita_ on the table before her, he whispered, "I'm glad we both refused to give up the table. Thank you." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She thought a moment, asking breathlessly,

"For what?"

He smiled softly, his grin crooked. "For keeping me company." And then, without a word, he left, joining his buddy. She watched him, glanced down at the book, grabbed it, and then rushed from the shop, calling for him.

"Wait! Corporal, wait!" The men turned back, feet from their jeep. He had since put the rest of his gear on, but she could still see those beautiful green eyes. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to him, suddenly nervous. He waited, silent. When she didn't say anything, he turned back, but she grabbed his hand. The simple gesture was like a bolt, driving through both of them and rooting their feet to the dusty ground. She struggled to think of something to say, before reaching up and removing her necklace. The simple golden Star of David had been a gift from her father for tenth birthday; she'd worn it every day since, rarely taking it off. Now, she clasped the chain and held it out to him. The star glinted in the Israeli sun, catching the sun and sparkling like the most beautiful of diamonds. He glanced first at her and then at the necklace, his eyes asking a million questions. She waited for him to hold out his hand. He did so, and she dropped the necklace into his palm.

He looked up at her, confused. "What is this for?" Quickly, she folded his hand over it, holding his fingers closed so he couldn't give it back.

"For keeping me company." She whispered, rising up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back, a light blush had colored his cheeks.

"McGee, we have to get back to base now!" He nodded, but didn't move. A moment passed, before he asked,

"What's your name?" She opened her mouth to respond, when one of his buddies pulled him onto the jeep and started it up. She rushed after it, struggling to keep her eye on him. As they reached the city limits, she called out to him, but he only caught the last of her name.

"-Iva!" As they drove off into the hot Israeli dust, he turned the name over in his mind, fist clenched tight around the necklace. Iva. It would be the only clue he would have to go on for years. Just as McGee would be her only clue to the green-eyed Marine she'd met in the coffeeshop. Once they were gone, she reached up, brushing her fingers against her cheek. She could still feel his kiss, and told herself she would treasure it forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: This idea had been bouncing around in my head for the last couple days, so that's why I started working on it. I just like the idea of Ziva and Tim being long-lost lovers. But then again, that's the pathetically hopeless romantic in me. **

**Thanks to mcgeeksgirl, Sazzita, Stargazer22123, JonnyP86, Reader and Peglet for reviewing 1.**

"Zivaleh, what happened to your necklace?" Her head snapped up, and she felt her father's gaze boring into her. A moment passed, before she reached up and grabbed at her neck, remembering that it was bare.

"The chain snapped,_ Abba_. I did not realize it until I left the coffeeshop. I am sorry." He nodded, studying her for a moment, before returning to what he was working on. Once his attention was occupied elsewhere, she rushed off to her bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her and clambering onto her bed. She pulled the book the Marine had given her out of her bag, staring at the worn cover, finger tracing the letters of the title. As she opened it up, his scent instantly filled her nostrils, wrapping around her. She could smell the warmth of the sun, the strength of the detergent used in the wash of his clothes, the faint scent that was distinctly male, and the strong scent of coffee.

As she thumbed through the book, little things written in the margins in pen jumped out at her. Questions, answers, opinions on certain passages. Some that made her laugh, others that made her eyes mist over with tears. He had dictated several thoughts and opinions about the novel, the characters, the author within the pages, and it gave her a minor insight into the workings of his mind.

She lifted the book, clambering back to settle against the headboard and start reading at the beginning, when something dropped between the pages and landed in her lap. Glancing down, she found a small medallion on a simple silver chain. Upon closer inspection, she realized what it was.

A medallion.

Quickly, she got up, rushing to her bookshelf. Pulling down her book on the history of Ireland- one that Ari had brought back for her from his trip to Ireland a year earlier- she quickly flipped through it, coming upon a photograph with the medal in plain sight. Taking a seat on the bed, she read the description, glancing from the image to the medallion in her hand and back.

_"Regarded by those of the Catholic faith, St. Christopher, is known as the Patron Saint of Travelers. He is often depicted crossing a river, carrying a small child on his back. In Ireland, he is called upon by those seeking safe travels."_

Saint Christopher. So that's what the medallion was. Patron Saint of Travelers.

Setting her book aside, she got up, grabbing a notebook and a pencil, and quickly jotting everything she could remember about the young Marine down.

_Green eyes_ was the first thing she wrote down. Fascinated by his green eyes, she'd found herself drowning in the beautiful depths, never wanting rescue. She'd loved watching him laugh today; his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and it made him all the more adorable. Shaking herself, she returned to her list.

_Irish or of Irish descent. _

_Loved literature; mother was a literature professor at..._

What was the school she taught at? Suddenly, she couldn't remember. Princeton? Brown? _No, Harvard._

_Graduate of John Hopkins, and starting at MET in the fall._ She had a feeling that last one wasn't right, but she couldn't remember the name. A moment passed, before she quickly scribbled down,

_Almost nineteen._

As she picked up the medallion again, she thought back on those green eyes, that soft kiss, the feel of his warm breath on her skin. How his words echoed in her head, even after his convoy had driven off into the hot desert sun.

_Looks younger than actual age._

She blushed, thinking of his words to her. _"You look older than your age." _He had grinned at her, his green eyes lighting up as he watched her, and she'd felt her cheeks bloom pink. She had often been told that she looked older than she actually was, but it was almost always followed by a leer or the unwanted touch of a man who thought he could have what he wanted just because he was male. It had been nice, to be told that, and then not touched or sneered at. He had been a gentleman, kind and patient, making her laugh or making her think when he brought up a part of the novel she hadn't ever considered in a different context. She shook herself from the memories of earlier that afternoon, returning to her list.

_Quit-witted, and possibly brilliant._

She thought, then quickly crossed it out, rewriting it again. Quick-witted _and_ brilliant.

_Favorite author is Hemingway._

The way they'd debated _Sun Also Rises_ had told her that she was not the only one that loved the classics, and that he was not like other Marines. Some of the men were rough and rowdy, catcalling and whistling at the women or girls as they passed, drinking or getting caught in awkward situations. But this one... he didn't strike her as the type. He'd obviously been raised to respect women, to be courteous and kind, and so to do anything any of the other Marines did would obviously be out of character. He had listened to her as if her opinions actually mattered; when she'd lost her temper and yelled at him, he'd just looked at her with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, like he was used to behing snapped at by women.

Older sister? Girlfriend? Former lover? Wife?

There'd been no ring on his finger, he hadn't said a word about a wife or lover. A small part of her hoped that he wasn't married, wasn't involved with someone else. A moment passed, before she wrote down the most important words on her list- the key that would help her find that Marine again.

_Lance Corporal McGee_


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Saissa, Stargazer22123, JonnyP86 and Peglet for reviewing 2.**

_Late November 1997_

_Arlington, Virginia_

He stared at the Star of David, his mind going back to that hot summer day in Tel Aviv, to that small coffeeshop, to the corner table near the bookcase and the girl who'd proven him wrong. He, like most Americans, had the typical misconceptions regarding Israelis- that they were all devout Jews with strict rules on gender roles. But that girl-

That girl was the furthest thing from the stereotype.

Sure, she was just barely sixteen, but she acted much older than her years. She obviously bore witness to things no child should see in their lifetime. She was also obviously a reader, for she'd eagerly taken part in their discussion. He chuckled softly at the memory of her eyes lighting up when they discussed the relationship between Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and the various connections between the famous authors' novels.

He'd gone back to the cafe the next day, but she wasn't there, and then, he'd been deployed to Iraq, where he'd served four months ago before finally returning home. He'd spent the last three weeks at the VA, on suicide watch thanks to PTSD caused by the bomb that had exploded near his base in Iraq. For a moment, he'd thought he'd lost his life, and had silently prayed that he had. Only to wake up at the MASH hours later, damaged mentally and injured externally. He'd been honorably discharged, and sent home. He'd spent weeks in hospital, going through therapy, counciling, and now, he was able to walk with only occasional use of a cane.

He had just left Arlington Cemetery, having attended a funeral for a friend he'd served with, and had decided to stop by his parents' house in Arlington. He hadn't seen them since he'd shipped out months ago, and now, felt it time to seek them out. Tucking the Star back into his pocket, he pushed himself away from the car and headed up the walk of the little cottage home.

The front door opened, and someone rushed out, calling for him._ "Timmy!"_ He looked up, to see his younger sister, Sarah, rushing towards him. When she got close enough, she threw her arms around his neck, sending him stumbling back.

_"Oof! Sarah... Timmy can't breathe..."_ He lost his balance, managing to manuever so that they landed on the grass. He toppled onto the lawn, his little sister still on top of him, her face buried in his shirt.

"I missed you so much, Timmy!" She said, squeezing. He choked.

_"Sarah... Timmy_ really _can't breathe..."_

"Sarah, let your brother breathe!" He looked up, to see his father holding out a hand to him. Gratefully, he took it once Sarah had clambered off him. They watched in silence as he knelt down and grabbed his cane, leaning on it slightly. Sarah watched him, brow knitting in confusion.

"Timmy?" He turned to his little sister. She was fourteen, a freshman in high school, one of hundreds of military kids who had a family member in the military- in Sarah's case, she had two; their dad _and_ her older brother. Her green eyes sparked with worry, asking a thousand questions. "Did you get hurt?"

He sighed. How did he tell his little sister that he'd been in an explosion that had killed for members of his team? How did he explain that he'd been stationed first in Israel, and then in Iraq, where he'd seen horrific things, things that kept him up at night or made him wake up screaming? How did he explain that his injury and his actions that day had bestowed upon him an honorable discharge, with a pruple heart for being wounded while he helped others at the base after it was attacked? How did he even bring that up?

And then there was the girl he'd met in Israel? What did he say to that? He was a good Catholic boy, raised in the traditional Roman Catholic church, had been an alter boy, and the girl he'd met- the beautiful, funny, intelligent and intriguing now-sixteen-year-old girl with the striking dark eyes and mass of curls- was Jewish, as evident by the Star he hid within his pocket. Sure, there could never be- would never be- a future with that girl- not only their age differences, but also their religions and the places they lived- but still, she had left an impression. Swallowing, he turned to his little sister.

"There was... an accident, in Iraq. We were coming back from patrol, pulling into base, and a bomb went off. Blew our jeep and half the base to bits. I tried to get the others out, but we lost..." He shuddered. "Recieved an honorable discharge and was sent back. Spent a few months in the VA in D.C., came home." He shrugged. "The cane is a lot better than the wheelchair I was using the first few weeks." His mother gasped, and Sarah slowly went to her older brother, wrapping her arms tight around him. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her head.

"You're okay though, right?" She asked, looking up at her brother. He met her gaze, thinking.

"As good as I can be. I'm... being awarded the Purple Heart in a couple weeks, but I don't deserve it. I didn't do anything that would warrant a medal. I just did my job." He looked up as his mother reached out and took his face in her hands.

"You came back to us. You didn't return in a flag-covered coffin, you came home to us. That... that is more imporant than any medal." He gave her a small smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Now, let's get you inside. Have you eaten anything?" He shook his head. "Then let's get you inside and get you something to eat." As their parents headed inside, Sarah turned to her brother.

"Timmy, what aren't you telling me?" He shook his head.

"Nothing, Sar." She studied him for a moment before heading inside. As she stepped through the door, he dug into his pocket, pulling out the necklace.

Iva.

That was all he had to go on. A moment passed before he tucked it back into his pocket, heading inside. Even if he never found Iva, he'd always remember her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

_2000_

_He leaned down, his green eyes sparking with something she couldn't identify, but knew she wanted to see. His arms went around her waist, pulling her close. Even in his military gear, she still was able to feel close to him, and reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. A moment passed, before he leaned down; she rose up on her toes-_

Her eyes sprang open and she sat up, breathing heavy. She took several deep breaths, as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

Oh-two-hundred.

Groaning, she pushed the blankets aside and got up, knowing that if she curled back under the covers, that she wouldn't be able to sleep. As she shuffled towards the kitchen, she stopped at the bathroom to glance in the mirror. She looked the same, just older, exhausted. Slowly, she reached up, grasping the St. Christopher medallion that hung around her neck. It had been _him_ that she was dreaming about.

Again.

Even though three years had passed, she still couldn't get the green-eyed American Marine out of her head. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there, watching her, that green gaze boring into her soul. His voice was in her ear, his touch on her skin. She had gone back to the coffeeshop, but he hadn't returned, and she knew she would never see him again. He had been almost nineteen when they met; now, she was exactly nineteen.

Her life hadn't turned out like the way she'd dreamed- marriage, family, a home in America, where he was from. As a teenager, she had dreamt that he would come back and take her away, stealing her into a plane or ship, and take her back to America, where they would get married, have children... all the things she had would never get to have because of her profession. Because of her father.

And thanks to her younger sister's death back in February, she would never get to have the life she wanted.

When Tali died in that Hamas bombing-

She swallowed, shaking herself. _No, you can't think that way. Tali was innocent, she was a victim. Not the reason. You chose this profession because Abba groomed you for it. He never groomed you to be anything other than a killer._

She knew that, but still found it hard to accept.

From the moment of her birth, she'd been groomed by her father to be the best assassin he had; honing her skills and making sure she understood that there was no room for weakeness in Mossad. From blindfolding and taking her and Tali out to a forest and leaving them there to find their way home when she was eight, to setting up a mock-kidnapping when she was a freshman in high school that she had to work her way out of, her father had made sure that her survival skills were finely tuned. She didn't really get a childhood. Or teenager years, come to think of it.

And then that Marine had appeared, sitting in her spot by the bookcase, with his green eyes and love of literature. And he'd shown her a different type of life.

She had been fascinated, and he had populated her dreams for years. This two a.m. shuffle into the kitchen was just another induced by his ghostly presence. As she stared at the medallion, she thought back on the man who'd given it to her. It was getting harder and harder to see his face, to remember his voice, his touch. Every time she tried to conjure him up, she only got a vague image, like a photograph out of focus. A shadow, lurking at the edge of her mind, haunting her in her dreams, calling out to her from beyond the years.

How she longed to find him, to search him out, to get to know him, date him, maybe even fall in love with him-

"He is probably married by now, with children of his own." She whispered, the words bit, and her stubborn heart pushed them down. _Do not think that way. He is waiting for you. He may not know it, but he is._

She gripped the medallion tighter, staring into the mirror. When had the innocent girl he'd met become someone she didn't recognize? Was it after he left? Or after her mother died? Was it after Ari returned from England, turned his back on his family, becoming a radical extremist who ran with other extremists in the underbelly of Tel Aviv? Or was it after Tali died, back in February? Or had she always been this way, and just never noticed? Either way, she didn't recognize herself, and it scared her.

Not long after the Americans left Israel, she joined Tzahal, the Israeli army, and juggled it along with school. As soon as her father had given her permission, she'd joined Mossad. Of course, if she hadn't joined, her father would have disowned her, that much was certain. So she took things in stride, wearing the medallion under her clothes or tucked in her boot, so that he was always with her. She would try to remember what he looked like, but all she got were glimpses.

He was most prominent in her dreams.

She swallowed. For three years, he flooded her dreams and called out to her, and try as she might, she tried to follow, but she always awoke before she could. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed the medallion, before rushing back into her room and rummaging through her desk. Lifting out her list, she scanned it, before setting it back on the desktop. She couldn't take it anymore. She _had_ to find him, even if it was just to assure herself that he was still alive. She had to track him down, otherwise she'd never be able to sleep.

Taking a deep breath, she got up, going to the bed. Her father had told her about an assignment he wanted her on in Ireland. Kind of pointless, since she was more of a control officer than anything at this point, and though she was a part of_ Kidon_, her father didn't entirely trust her to take on a mission as an operative, considering that she'd been unable to save Tali- and since Tali had been in her sister's care at the time of the bombing. The fact that he still blamed her for her sister's death- months later- stung, but she buried it deep.

First thing in the morning, she would request the assignment in Ireland. And if he refused, then she would go there herself, and start her search for her marine, Mossad and her father be damned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

She slammed the door to her apartment closed. The _nerve_ of the man, telling her that she was on _probation_, _refusing_ to allow her to go to on the assignment to Ireland- all because of something she couldn't have prevented in the first place! As she made a pot of tea and leaned against the counter, she thought back on the conversation she'd had with her father, as she reached up and played with the medallion.

_"What exactly do you want to go to Ireland for, Ziva?"_

_"To be part of the mission, Abba."_

_"You cannot be part of the mission. You will remain here, on probation, until I deem you fit to be back in the field. But until that time, you work minor assignments here, and reflect on Talia." _

_"Tali was not my fault, Abba. I could not have done anything to save her. She was marked for death long before that day."_

Her father had lost his temper at that statement. He'd ordered her out, refusing her request. Though she had been the oldest daughter, she knew that Tali had always been her father's favorite. It hadn't bothered her when Tali was alive, but now that she as dead...

When she'd fixed her tea, she headed back to her bedroom, curling up on her bed and staring into space. She played absent-mindedly with the St. Christopher medallion and then stopped, her gaze going down to the pendant. Setting her cup aside, she went to her desk, grabbing the piece of paper with her notes on the American Marine. Quickly scanning it, she then grabbed her book on Ireland, and returned to her bed.

_Irish._

He was Irish, or had Irish in his blood.

She glanced back at the paper, her eyes lighting up. If he was Irish, then he had to have ancestry in Ireland-

She was pulled from her study by the phone ringing. On the other end, was the woman who tended her mother's home- the home she herself had been born in. She said something about having a package for her, and asking her to come get it. The last thing she wanted to do was go out to Be'er Sheva to retrieve a package, but she figured that it was better to retrieve the thing before the woman tossed it.

By the time she arrived at the house, she'd formulated a convaluted plan that would take her to her marine, scraped it, reworked it, and told herself that the whole idea was stupid. As she climbed the steps to the house, she quickly tucked the medallion into her shirt. The woman gave her a smile as she handed over the package. When she returned to her car, she set it on the passenger seat, and started her car, but stopped. Glancing at the package, she thought a moment, then got out, grabbed the box, and with a quick word to the woman, headed out to the olive groves. She had grown up in these olive groves, playing with Tali and Ari, or getting lost in them herself; the olive groves brought comfort when she found none, and it was here that she opened the package.

Nestled inside the package was a small, wooden box, painted black, and with beautiful Celtic knots carved into it. Slowly, she opened it, only to feel her brow furrow with confusion. For resting inside the box was a small, hand trowel, with a note tucked underneath. She recognized Ari's handwriting, but didn't understand. Ari was somewhere underground, paling around with other radical extremists. Why would he ship her such a beautiful wooden box with a trowel in it? He hadn't been to Ireland in years. She turned her gaze back to the note-

_Zivaleh,_

_L__ook beneath the olive grove near the tree. You will find it there._

"Find what?" She whispered softly, setting the package down and grabbing the trowel. She climbed to her feet, making her way towards the grove he indicated- a single olive tree, nestled beneat the shade. Kneeling down, she dug her trowel into the dirt, feeling ridiculous after several minutes. Just as she'd decided that this whole endeavor was a waste of time, she hit something. Quickly setting her tool down, she continued to dig with her hands, eventually pulling out a simple drawstring bag.

This? _This_ is what Ari wanted her to find?

It was just a small drawstring bag; nothing special. She sighed, standing. And something in the bag clicked together. She turned back, being silent as she gently swung the bag again, only to hear the same sound. Her heart leaping into her throat, she quickly grabbed the package, trowel and box and rushed back to her car. When she finally returned to her apartment, she shut her bedroom door and climbed onto her bed, setting the trowel, package and small box aside, turning her attention to the bag.

Taking a deep breath, she opened it and turned it over, dumping the contents onto her bed.

A strangely shaped cross, what looked like a children's Caddagh ring, and a green glass ball.

Quickly, she turned to her book on Ireland, looking up the cross.

_St. Brigid's Cross- originated during a visit St. Brigid made to a dying Chieftain in which she wove it from rushes on the floor to show the significance of Christian faith._

She then turned to the two other things in the bag. She knew what the ring was, but it was the ball that was throwing her off. So she turned back to her book, finding the description easily.

Witch Ball- Dating back to the 18th century, hollow glass balls have been hung to ward off witch's spells and evil spirits. Legend has it that the evil spirit is attracted to these colorful balls, pulled inside, and trapped within the glass web protecting the home from harm.

Her brow furrowed. But why would_ Ari_, of all people, leave her this stuff to find? She hadn't said a word to him about her marine. But then again, he was her brother, and when it came to her, he could read her like a book. Or maybe, he wanted her to take the chance and see Ireland before she got so deep in Mossad that she would never have the chance.

Either way, she gently pushed the trinkets aside, climbed off her bed, and started packing. This was her chance, to find her marine and possibly put an end to the psychosis he'd instilled in her. Whether Ari knew about him or not, she was going to take it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to earthdragon for reviewing 3; Stargazer22123 for reviewing 3, 4 and 5; Reader for reviewing 2, 3, 4 and 5; and Luneastar96 and mcgeeksgirl for reviewing 5.**

_Kinvara, County Clare, Ireland_

_February 2001_

She stood on the shore, staring out at the sea, at the edge of the small coastal village. She's never seen anything so beautiful. Ireland was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

She'd stayed in Israel through January, finishing up what she needed to in Mossad, and then had- with a little white lie- told her team leader in Mossad that she'd been assigned the Ireland mission, that would take place in February. Because she was the daughter of the Deputy Director of Mossad, and because he let her choose her own missions, not a soul disputed it; no one wanted to get on his bad side if they could help it. She'd then caught the first plane to Ireland that she could before any of them could question her motives. She kept her Team Leader in the loop of course, but only briefly. By the time she'd arrived in Kinvara, she'd cut off all contact with them; not unusual in her profession.

There had been a brief period at the Tel Aviv airport where she'd been pulled aside, and she thought that her father had caught on to her plan, but after checking that she had her papers and everything in order- and clearing it with her Team Leader- they let her aboard. Although, she didn't entirely relax until the plane landed in Dublin. From there, as soon as she could get off the plane, she bolted down the terminal and through the airport, pretending that she was late for something, when really, she was trying to gain the upperhand on her father if he sent someone after her to bring her home.

She took a deep breath, breathing in the salty air; it was beautiful here, with the waves crashing onto the jagged rocks, the sun glimmering upon the waves... the small villiage was like something out of a painting; small cottages and cobblestone streets, it was like something out of a fairytale. When she'd first arrived in Ireland, she had been overwhelmed by the sheer difference of the country to hers. Everywhere she looked, she saw green; everywhere she'd looked in Israel, she saw browns, tans.

Dirt.

There wasn't a hint of dirt in Ireland- not that she could see anyway. And the number of languages spoken- Gaelic, Irish, Shelta, Ulster Scots, English- surprised her. There weren't even that many languages in Israel. And everyone had been fairly kind to the foreigner- giving her directions to Kinvara and giving her suggestions on what to do when she got there. She accepted them all with a quiet smile and a nod, and once she finally arrived in the small town, she found a small cottage bed and breakfast that she could check into, and once she'd gotten settled, she headed out to explore, the small drawstring bag of trinkets Ari had left for her to find in her bag.

Her first stop was the beach, something she had never seen. Like a child first meeting Santa, she had approached the Irish shore with a wide-eyed innocence. She turned, to find herself staring at Dunguaire Castle, off to the east. With one last look at the sea, she started the three hundred yard trek towards the sixteenth century castle.

It was beautiful, the old stone walls rose above her, guarding what had once been precious cargo. She stopped at the gate, unsure if a private tour would be allowed. Nervous, she reached up, grasping the medallion. For some reason, she was drawn to the beautiful fortress, a small part of her convinced that she was there because of her marine. "Is his history within these walls?" When she got no reply, she turned to go.

"Excuse me, Miss." She turned back, finding a woman on the other side of the gate. The woman beckoned her closer, and she went to her. "Were you looking to go on a tour?" Ziva bit her lip. A moment passed, before she nodded.

"If it is all right." And then she rummaged around in her bag, pulling out her wallet. She'd had to change to to Irish Pounds when she reached Dublin, and so the currency was throwing her off. She quickly pulled out several Irish Pounds, and counted them out; unsure of how much a tour was, she glanced at the woman, and then thrust the money at her. "I do not know how much-"

The woman watched her, silent. "You are not from here, are ye?" She asked, a hint of an Irish burr in her voice, making the words sound quite pretty. Ziva shook her head.

"No. I... I am from Israel. I..." She licked her lips, weighing her words. "I am looking for someone. But... but he is not here. He is in America, but he is Irish."

The woman raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. She hadn't touched the money. "Are ye now? Well, what might his name be? Even if I don't know him, I may know people who do." She watched the young woman think, trying to decide how much to tell her. Finally she looked up.

"I... I do not know his first name, but he is an American Marine. A Lance Corporal. He is Irish." She said, pulling the medallion from her shirt and showing it to the woman. "He gave me this when we met." The woman leaned closer to get a better look.

"Lots of people have medallions of St. Christopher, dear-" She started. Ziva bit her lip. She had to think of something to say, to get the woman to listen to her.

"McGee! His last name is McGee!" She cried, causing the woman to step back, startled.

"McGee?" She asked, meeting the girl's eyes. Ziva nodded.

"Yes. Lance Corporal McGee." She saw something flash across the woman's face. As she unlocked the gate and beckoned her inside.

"I think I know your Lance Corporal, Miss." Ziva furrowed her brow as she followed the woman through the gate and towards the castle.

"But how-" The woman threw open the doors, turning back to her.

"Because my nephew is a Lance Corporal in the American Marines. His name is Timothy McGee."


	7. Chapter 7

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to JonnyP86 and Stargazer22123 for reviewing 6.**

"Your... your nephew?" She asked, eyes widening as she followed the woman into the castle. The ancient stone castle was huge, the main hall, was like something out of_ Harry Potter_. Hell, the whole castle was like something out of _Harry Potter_. It was beautiful, medieval, like stepping into another world.

"_Aye_." The woman stopped, turning to Ziva. "Technically, I am not supposed to allow visitors in the spring months, but for you, an exception."

"Is this a tourist attraction?" Ziva asked, meeing the woman's eyes.

"_Aye_. From April 'til October, it is open to visitors. I was just here today to clean and make sure the castle is clean, since we open in two months. I was honestly not planning on entertaining any guests today."

"Oh, then I will go-" Ziva started, turning to head back to the door. From the moment she'd stepped through the gate, she'd felt as though she were intruding in a world that she had no place in. The woman's hand on her arm stopped her.

"No. I invited_ ye_ in, so stay. Besides, I have something to tell _ye_." Ziva nodded, and continued following her. As they made their way down to the small office that house the Shannon Heritage, that owned the building, Ziva asked,

"What did you want to tell me?" Once the office door closed behind them, the woman set a pot of water on a small portable stove and turned it on. She then took a seat at the desk across from Ziva.

"My name is Siobhan O'Reilly. I'm the curator of Dunguaire Castle."

"Ziva David." The two quickly shook hands, and Ziva found herself studying her subject. The woman was older, most likely in her forties or earlier fifties, with short, light red hair and green eyes, and a beautiful lilting accent. She was fair, with a smattering of freckles across her nose, and was small, lithe. Ziva struggled to remember if her marine had freckles across his nose, when Siobhan's voice cut through her thoughts.

"It's nice to meet _ye_, Ziva." Ziva smiled softly at her, waiting for her to continue. "My brother and his family live in America. My parents were both born in Ireland- though my mother's father was American, he'd married an Irishwoman when he was stationed here during the war- and married young. Therefore, my mother and my siblings and I are all American by birth. There were six of us. My older sisters, Fiona and Eithne and my older brothers, Timothy and Connor, myself and my younger brother John." She got up when the kettle whistled, and quickly poured two cups of tea, handing one to Ziva before returning to her seat.

"When our parents divorced, my mother took Fiona, John, and Eithne back to America with her, leaving Connor, Timothy and I with_ Da_. We kept in contact, until _Da_ died, and then all contact was lost. We grew up, started our own lives. My sister Eithne died in the TWA Flight Eight-hundred explosion over the Atlantic on July Seventeenth nineteen-ninety-six." Ziva shrugged. She'd never heard of the explosion or the plane. Siobhan waved it away. "The entire plane was wiped out; it was heading to Rome with a stopover in France. I was to meet her in Paris; then I got the call from John, that TWA Eight-hundred had exploded, and that Eithne was onboard. By that point, though, John was worrying about his son."

"His son?" Ziva asked, confused. Siobhan nodded, and rummaged through a drawer, eventually pulling something out. She handed the photograph to Ziva. It was an image of a young boy, probably no more than ten or so, with a six-year-old little girl by his side. They stood on a beach, the Cliffs of Moher in the background. Both children had sandy hair, pale skin, and wore bright smiles. Both children had green eyes, and grinned at her from the photograph.

"Timothy and his younger sister Sarah. He was at John Hopkins in the United States, and then, halfway through his last semester, joined the Marines. Got his first deployment not long after he graduated. John himself is an admiral in the American Navy, and wanted his son to join the military. And when he did..." Ziva glanced back at the photograph. "The Cliffs of Moher."

"I am sorry?" Ziva said, looking up at the woman, confused. Siobhan nodded to the photograph.

"They are standing on the beach below the Cliffs of Moher. A beautiful place. My sister Fiona wrote a song about Ireland, and it mentions the Cliffs specifically." She reached into the top drawer of her desk, pulling out a cd. "Fiona is a singer. She never made it very big, but she loves it. We all need to find something we love, don't we?" Ziva nodded, taking the cd. "She gave Timothy a copy of the song before he left on his first deployment. When I talked to Fiona last, she said that he listened to it as often as he could; that it reminded him of Ireland."

"So he _is_ Irish?" Ziva asked. It was the first thing that popped into her head, and she mentally kicked herself. Siobhan chuckled softly and nodded.

"_Aye_, he is. Spent his childhood summers in Ireland, traversing the moors and biking riding through the villages. Both he and Sarah took Irish dance- soft and hard shoe." She lifted a framed photograph from her desk, turning it to Ziva. Two children- a boy in black with a trimmed green vest on and a girl in a traditional Irish dance costume with her hair in small curls held back with a green headband stood together, back to back, holding hands. They looked to be about the same ages they were in the photograph on the beach. "They still come by and visit when they can- but since his deployment and discharge-"

"Discharge?" Ziva's head snapped up and she placed the photograph back on the desk. Siobhan nodded.

"_Aye_. He had been in Israel for time, and then was transferred to Iraq. When his base was attacked, he helped put a stop to it, and was wounded in battle. They sent him home with an honorable discharge." Ziva listened, trying to think about her marine. She didn't know much of anything about him other than what she could remember from that meeting.

Was his first name Timothy? She didn't know. All she knew was that his last name was McGee.

"Thank you, Siobhan."

"You are very welcome, Ziva. Feel free to come back again." As she started to leave the office, she stopped, turning back.

"Um, I... I was wondering..." Siobhan looked up from her paperwork. A moment passed before she pulled the drawstring bag out, and slowly removed the things Ari had sent her. "Do you... know the signifigance of these?" Siobhan reached out, slowly picking up the ring.

"A claddagh ring- the hands represent friendship; the heart love; and the crown loyalty. In medieval times, it was seen as an engagement ring. But now, it is primarily seen as an emblem of Irish identity. St. Brigid's Cross and a Witch's Ball. Very common things here in Ireland."

"My brother sent them to me. But he has not been to Ireland in years. Why would he send me these things?" Siobhan seemed to think for a moment, rolling the ball between her hands gently.

"Perhaps he wants you to search for a part of yourself that has been missing. Does he know about my nephew?" Ziva shook her head.

"No. And I only met him once. At a coffeeshop. We talked about literature. When he left, I gave him my Star of David necklace, and he gave me this." She pulled the medallion out of her blouse and removed it from around her neck, holding it out. Siobhan took it, examining the medallion closely. Something flashed across her face, and she handed it back.

"Aye, that is my nephew's."

"Are you sure?" Ziva asked, as she put it back around her neck. Siobhan nodded.

"I couldn't see it closely before, but now... if you notice, on the back, there is a small Celtic cross engraved into it." Ziva turned the medallion around, studying it. Sure enough, there was the cross. "The McGees have always felt that engraving a Celtic cross onto their medallions was a way to remind them that though they travel far, their faith will always lead them home."

"Ireland." Ziva ventured. Siobhan shrugged.

"Where'ver they deem home to be." She returned the trinkets to the bag and handed it back to Ziva, who stood with a soft 'thank you'. "Miss David." Ziva turned back to the older woman. "My_ Da_ used to say, that if_ ye_ put _yer_ faith in St. Christopher, he would lead_ ye_ on_ yer _journey to_ yer_ heart's desire because the heart and soul are connected. If my nephew gave his medallion to_ ye_, he did so for a reason. Clearly,_ ye_ were meant to find _yer_ heart's desire. Best of luck too _ye_."


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Anyone remember_ So Weird_ from the original Disney Channel (the 1990s)? The song I use is 'The Rock' from S2 Ep11. And I know there were mp3 players in 2001, but for some strange reason, I just picture Ziva having a portable cd player. **

_"My Da used to say, that if ye put yer faith in St. Christopher, he would lead ye on yer journey to yer heart's desire because the heart and soul are connected. If my nephew gave his medallion to ye, he did so for a reason. Clearly, ye were meant to find yer heart's desire."_

She hadn't looked at the trinkets since her visit to the castle, two days earlier. She'd spent her time wandering around the small village, taking in everything, snapping photographs whenever she saw something interesting. Which was pretty much everything.

Now, she pulled the contents of the bag out, and was surprised to find the photograph of Siobhan's niece and nephew tucked into the bag. The older woman must have tucked it in before handing it back to her. The children in the photograph smiled at her, and as she gently traced the image, she tried to remember if this was her marine. But all she could see when she tried to picture him were his eyes. She set the photo down, and turned back to the trinkets. And then her eyes landed on the cd sleeve. She picked it up, studying it. Siobhan had told her to listen to it.

Climbing off the bed, she grabbed her laptop, popping the cd into the drive. She plugged in her headphones and hit play. As the song began and Fiona's voice started to the strum of the guitar, Ziva closed her eyes and played with the chain of the medallion, letting the music carry her away.

_"Iva."_

She sat up, pulling the headphones from her ears, his voice ringing in her ears. She looked around, but realized she was alone. A moment passed, before she got up, rummaging through her bag and pulling out her portable cd player. Returning to the bed, she removed the cd from her laptop and turned the machine off, putting it away. Then, she put the cd in the player, tucked it back into her bag, pulled on her jacket, and stuck her headphones in before leaving the bed and breakfast.

Instead of getting a ride, she walked, turning the music on and letting it play on repeat. There was only one song on the cd- a single by Fiona, titled 'The Rock.' It had elements of this beautiful culture that her marine came from, from the beautiful guitar to the drums and flute. She could just imagine her marine doing Irish step dancing to music as beautiful as this, or exploring the castles. Standing on the beaches, watching the sun set into the waves...

She didn't even realize that she'd reached the Cliffs, so absorbed in the music was she. As she walked up the road, following the fence that had been placed to keep people from falling or jumping to their deaths, she saw something she would never forget. Quickly, she pulled off her headphones, looking around before she realized she was alone. Turning back, she found herself facing the ocean, other parts of the cliffs protruding out, showing their rocky faces to the sea wind. She could see the green on the other cliffs, and after a moment, headed further down, to a slender path that led to a patch of grass that wasn't guarded by a fence. Being careful, she stood, looking out at the sea. She could see portions of the beach below, and after a moment, pulled the photograph out of her bag.

This.

This is where that long ago photograph was taken. Down on the beach, but these cliffs- these_ very_ cliffs she stood on- were in that photograph. As she lowered the photograph and looked around, she realized that something had called her here. No, not something; _someone_.

She returned her headphones to her ears, and knelt down, taking a seat on the grass as she stared out to sea.

_"There's a low rock wall_  
_By the cliffs of Moher_  
_Runs from down on the ground_  
_Right up through the sea air_

_As a child I would climb_  
_To the top of those stairs_  
_And wish on the fog_  
_I was anywhere else"_

These were the cliffs Fiona mentioned; she could see the fog beginning to roll in, for it was late afternoon, and the sea winds pushed the smokey haze as it pushed the salty air towards her. She had never interpreted song lyrics, but something told her that this particular song was written out of hurt and anger, pain and love. Obviously, something more than the divorce had caused Fiona's anger at her family. It seemed that she wanted to be anywhere but Ireland, as a child.

_Kind of like you._ She shook her head, scattering the thought. No, her life was entirely different from whatever Fiona and her siblings had experienced.

_"The farms and the valleys_  
_Are ringed with the stones_  
_Of the men who built walls_  
_Sos to be more alone_

_All that's left of them now_  
_Are their fears and their bones_  
_But the rocks they put up_  
_Were all I've ever known"_

This land was beautiful. Much like Israel, but it held a different kind of beauty than Israel. This beauty was lush and rich in vibrant colors, in a heritage to be proud of, to rejoice in. Family was important here, faith was important. Love was important.

_"The rock fought my spirit_  
_The rock fed my anger_  
_The rock broke my heart_  
_Like the waves of the sea_

_I tried hard to fight_  
_But it still grew inside me_  
_This island, my Ireland_  
_The rock is in me"_

She was obviously strong. No matter what they had gone through, this family was strong, and would survive. The chorus spoke of that in spades. Whatever they went through, they were strong. _She is talking about her sister. About her parents' divorce. About other things as well, perhaps?_ Ziva could attest to that. Her own parents had divorced when she was thirteen, and then her mother had died. She'd been left in her father's care, playing surrogate mother to Tali. Trained to kill- and in some sick way, protect- the one person she couldn't protect was her little sister, and still, she was paying. Paying dearly for it, because her father refused to acknowledge the fact that Tali's death wasn't her fault.

_"Hard was the ground_  
_In which this child grew_  
_Unforgiving and cold_  
_Was the home that I knew_

_But knowing the soil_  
_Holds no harbour for you_  
_Makes pulling up roots_  
_That much easier to do"_

_No harbour. You have no harbour in Israel, no matter what Abba says. There was never harbour, not for you. Especially after Ima's death. And as for unforgiving and cold? Abba has that down to a T._ She reached up, brushing absently at tears she didn't know she'd been shedding. Which was probably why she'd settled so easily into her lie. She had no love, no protection, no compassion or understanding from the man she called father.

_"Set sail_  
_Young pilgrims_

_Set sail_  
_To a new land_

_Set sail_  
_Our future_  
_Is out there to find"_

_Our future._ She reached up, grasping the medallion, tangling her fingers in the chain. She swallowed, staring out at the sea, lost in its beauty. A future. As far as her father was concerned, she didn't have a future. She didn't have a life, other than Mossad. Those dreams of her marine, coming back to take her away, of green-eyed children, a beautiful little house, a life other than the one she'd been living, were nothing more than that: dreams. She'd never had a chance, was never given a choice, she had no future. And yet, a small part of her screamed that if she found her marine, she would. She would have those dreams that plagued her nights.

_ "The rock fought my spirit_  
_The rock fed my anger_  
_The rock broke my heart_  
_Like the waves of the sea_  
_I tried hard to fight_  
_But it still grew inside me_  
_This island, my Ireland_  
_The rock is in me_

_I tried hard to fight_  
_But it still grew inside me_  
_This island, my Ireland_  
_The rock is in me"_

_Put your faith in St. Christopher, like she said. He'll guide you on your journey. He'll take you to your heart's desire, because the heart and soul are connected, remember?_ She grabbed the small drawstring bag, pulling out the ring. It was small, beautiful.

Friendship, love and loyalty.

_In medieval times, it was seen as an engagement ring. _

She sniffled. But why had Ari sent it to her? Perhaps he'd sent it to her as a message? That her marine was engaged to be married, and for her to stop this silly quest. If that was it, she'd rather throw herself from the cliffs here and now. Or could it be something else? Could he be telling her to fight for her marine until he slipped the ring on her finger and asked for her hand? Or was it just wishful thinking?

_"Now it's been years_  
_Since I've been in that place_  
_And the winds of my life_  
_Have all weathered my face_

_But if only with distance_  
_And the coming of grace_  
_That I see in you beauty_  
_I could never replace"_

Obviously Fiona hadn't returned to Ireland in years. But had John? Had he returned since then? Siobhan hadn't said if her niece and nephew were her brother's kids or her sister's. Or were they perhaps Eithne's? Had she left behind orphans? Or left them with their father? Had she boarded that plane to meet Siobhan in France to make amends? Or was there some other reason she'd gotten on that plane?

Siobhan had mentioned Israel- but there had been hundreds of American Marines in Israel the year she and her marine met, who was to say that this same marine was hers? She shook her head. No, she couldn't think like that. Everything she'd uncovered so far had matched up with what she could recall. This _had_ to be her marine.

_"The rock forged my spirit_  
_The rock was my anchor_  
_The rock held me fast_  
_Through the storms of my youth_

_Now you'll never die_  
_Cause you live on inside me_  
_An oileán seo,_  
_m'Éire fein"_

Finally, she climbed to her feet, slipping the ring back into the bag. Once it was safely tucked away, she slung her bag over her shoulder and turned back to the cliffs. They were truly beautiful. A moment passed, before she pulled out her camera, and snapped a few photographs. As she turned to leave, something on the ground caught her eye. She knelt down, brushing the dirt away from whatever she'd found.

As she lifted it out, she realized it was a locket.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

She should have turned it in, taken it to the police or given it to Goodwill. But something told her not to.

So she tucked it into her pocket and returned to her room at the cottage. Now, she sat on the bed, going over everything she had. She pulled out her list, scanned through it, and then grabbed a pen. A moment passed before she started to write.

_Supposedly has a sister. _

_Has dual citizenship, but most likely lives in America._

Her gaze drifted to the locket. She'd cleaned it off once she returned, and it sat on the bed beside her, taunting, beckoning, _waiting_ for her to open it. She tried to ignore it, but finally, she set her pen and list aside and grabbed the locket. It was beautiful; gold, with the same claddagh symbol that was on the ring, on the front of the locket. She flipped it over. She squinted, struggling to read the beautiful engraving on the back. Worn by age and weather, it was difficult to make out, but she was soon able to read the words.

_'Gra Anois Agus Go Deo'_

She repeated the words, before grabbing her book on the Irish language and quickly looked it up. "Oh. Love now and forever." She glanced back at the locket, before putting her book down. She really shouldn't open it; it belonged to someone at one time, and this would be an invasion of privacy. But something pushed her forward. Something made her gently pop the hatch and part the locket.

Nestled inside, were two photographs- one of a young man, the other of two children. She brought the locket closer, studying the boy and girl in the second image. If she didn't know any better...

_"Iva." _

She looked up, but she was alone. And hearing things, evidently. Or maybe it was because she was hoping the little boy in the picture was her marine. She studied the photograph Siobhan had given her, and then turned back to the images in the locket. Yes, these were definately the same children. Had he pushed her to the cliffs so she could find the locket? She sighed, laying back on the bed and studying the photograph in the locket before shutting it and picking up the photo near the cliffs.

He was a cute little boy, with a grin that seemed to reach his eyes. His sister had her arms around his waist, holding tight to her older brother. They stood on the shore, dripping wet from playing in the water, the cliffs watching over them like protective guardians. Around his neck-

_No, it cannot be._

She sat up, her eyes glued to the photograph. It wasn't exactly a faraway shot, but it also wasn't so close up that she could see every detail, but it was close. And if she weren't mistaken, he was wearing a medallion. Climbing off the bed, she rushed from the room, dropping the photograph on the floor. She made a beeline for the check-in counter. "Excuse me, but do you have a magnifying glass?" The older woman who ran the small bed and breakfast started, surprised by the request. After a moment, she nodded. "May I borrow it? I promise I will return it." Silent, the woman rummaged around before handing it to her. "_Toda_. Thank you." Ziva amended, realizing that the woman probably didn't speak a word of Hebrew.

When she returned to her room, she took a seat on the bed and, armed with the magnifying glass, reached for the photograph, only to find it nowhere near here. She looked around, before her gaze landed on the floor. There it was. Snatching it up, she sat on the bed and held the magnifying glass too it. After several minutes of adjusting to the new size, she saw it.

A medallion. The chain, twisted so that the back of the medallion faced the camera. She leaned closer, and that was when she saw it.

A small Celtic cross carved within.

_McGees have always felt that engraving a Celtic cross onto their medallions was a way to remind them that though they travel far, their faith will always lead them home. Where'ver they deem home to be._

This was him. This was her marine. This little boy, standing in the shadow of the Cliffs of Moher, holding his little sister tight, was the green-eyed marine she'd met those nearly four years ago at the coffeeshop.

It was his photograph she held, it was his and his sister's photograph in the locket. But how did the locket end up on the cliffs? And why had_ she_ found it?

After she returned the magnifying glass, she returned to her room, laying on the bed. She put her headphones back on and played the song over again, listening too it, searching for any hidden meaning. She found nothing except parallels to her own life. Her gaze flicked to her laptop, and she got up, grabbing her laptop and sitting up on the bed. Once she pulled up the internet, she stopped.

What the hell did she search for? A moment passed, before she typed in,_ Cliffs of Moher_.

The first thing that came up on the search engine startled her.

_Cliffs of Moher Suicide._

She hadn't been expecting that. Recovering from her shock, she scrolled through the links, before coming upon one that caught her attention.

_Local Authoress Commits Suicide at Cliffs of Moher_

She swallowed; a part of her desperately wanted to click the link, another part told her not to. Her curiosity won out, overpowering the more sensible part of her, and she clicked the link. As it uploaded, she glanced at the locket and the photograph, becoming lost in thought. When it came back up, she quickly scanned the headlines, before moving on to the body of the article.

_Local Authoress Kathleen McGee Throws Herself off Irish Landmark_

The photograph of the woman was breathtaking- she was beautiful, with thick sandy hair and bright green eyes. She was smiling, and wore the locket Ziva had found. She glanced at the locket before returning to the article.

_September Fourteenth, Nineteen-Eighty-Eight_

_The death of Local Authoress Kathleen McGee, best known for her novel Two Thousand Celtic Crosses, was ruled a suicide by the coroner today. McGee's September Eleventh death at the Cliffs of Moher marked the end of a tragic, heartbroken life of alcoholism and self-harm. McGee, for the last four years, had spent time in various centers for dealing with alcoholism, and even at one point managed to get clean, before once again returning to the bottle..._

_Born in fifty-six in Dublin, McGee met American Colonel John McGee in the spring of seventy-seven, when she was twenty-one years of age... They married a year later. McGee is survived by her husband, John, her sisters-in-law, Eithne, Siobhan, and Fiona; her brothers-in-law, Connor and Timothy; and her two children, Timothy and Sarah._

Ziva sucked in a breath. So the owner of the locket had committed suicide. But that wasn't the thing that shocked her the most. It was the last two names on the list. She swallowed. _What had Siobhan said her nephew's name was?_ She glanced at her list, her eyes flicking to the last hastily jotted words: Lance Corporal McGee.

Now, she knew who her marine was.

Lance Corporal _Timothy_ McGee.


	10. Chapter 10

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Reader for reviewing 6, 7, 8 and 9; mcgeeksgirl, Lunastar96 and JonnyP86 for reviewing 9. And to Reader- the answer to your question will come to light soon- just not right now. **

She blinked, reading the article again, letting the words really seep in. A moment passed before she pulled up a tab and quickly typed in,

_Two Thousand Celtic Crosses_

Every other link- besides the websites like Amazon and Barnes and Noble- came up with information about her suicide. She randomly clicked on one, realizing it was an obituary on a website of Irish Authors.

_Kathleen Aislin McGee_

_Born: May Fourth, Nineteen-Fifty-Six, Dublin_

_Died: September Eleventh, Nineteen-Eighty-Eight, Kinvara_

_Most Notable Works: Two Thousand Celtic Crosses, Upon the Jagged Cliffs, Ringed With the Stones_

_Born Kathleen O'Brien, McGee grew up in a world that shaped her perception of the written word. One of the many protesters in the infamous Bogside Massacre, Kathleen drew on her experiences of that bloody day, the contents of which shaped her first novel, Two Thousand Celtic Crosses. Published first at the age of sixteen, Kathleen later wrote of her experiences growing up in Ireland, and when she met her future husband, John McGee, a colonel in the American Navy, in seventy-seven at a Dublin coffeeshop, she put that experience into her writing. They married a year later, on February fifteenth, nineteen-seventy-eight. Their son, Timothy, was born on September thirteenth, nineteen-seventy-eight. A daughter, Sarah, followed in nineteen-eighty-three._

_McGee divided her time between Ireland and America, but never felt fully at home unless she was walking the Cliffs of Moher. She drew on her years as a mother for her next novel, Upon the Jagged Cliffs, becoming the Nobel Prize laureate in Literature in nineteen-eighty-five. By nineteen-eighty-seven, Kathleen and her family had moved back to Ireland, settling in the small village of Kinvara. Her final novel, Ringed With the Stones, was written between the summer of eighty-seven and the spring of eighty-eight. Published two weeks before her death, McGee appeared at her last book signing, on September ninth._

_Two days later, on September eleventh, according to her family, she put Timothy, nine, and Sarah, six, to bed, singing a lullaby to them both before kissing them goodnight. She then pulled on her coat, and went out for a walk; the last anyone saw of McGee, she was making her way towards the Cliffs of Moher. It was determined by the coroner that she jumped from the cliffs, leaving behind her husband and two children._

Ziva sat back, her heart in her throat. So Kathleen had jumped to her death.

But... but _why?_

After a moment, she got up, gathering her things and rushing from the room. She made her way back to the castle, stopping at the gate. What did she do? Did she knock? Call out for someone? Maybe Siobhan wasn't even here. After waiting several minutes, she turned to go.

Only to slam into Siobhan herself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle _ye_, Miss David. I was just arriving to get some work done." Ziva clamped her mouth shut, unsure of what to say. After a moment, she stepped aside for Siobhan to pass; the older woman beckoned her to follow. Once they were back in the office and Siobhan had started a pot of tea, she turned to Ziva. "What can I do for ye, Ziva?" She asked, going around her desk. Slowly, Ziva pulled the pages she'd printed from her laptop out. Thankfully, the woman who owned the cottage had a small printer, and she'd been able to print out the obituary. She then reached into her bag, pulling out the locket. Holding both items out, she waited, silent. Siobhan took the items, her gaze going to the photograph on the obituary. She slowly sank into her chair.

"_Ye_ found Kathleen, then." Ziva nodded.

"Who was she?" She pulled the photograph of the two children out, handing it to her. "Was she theirs? Why did she leave them?" Siobhan sighed.

"Kathleen was my younger brother John's wife. _Aye_, she was Timothy and Sarah's mother. And before _ye_ ask, Timothy was born seven months after his parents married. They were young, in love, they eloped. Married in secret, and had their son seven months later. Sarah followed four years later, in the summer of eighty-three. Kathleen..." She sighed, glancing back at the obituary. "Kathleen loved John, and so the family moved to America. But at some point, she returned to Ireland alone. She won the Nobel Prize in eighty-five, and returned to America, but the family moved back to Ireland in eighty-seven. Her last book was published two weeks before she died."

"_'Ringed With the Stones_.'" Ziva said, remembering reading about the book in the obituary. Siobhan nodded.

"_Aye_." She glanced at the obituary photograph. "She was troubled. Ever since she was a child, she was troubled by her mind. Depressed, I believe they call it now." Ziva swallowed, as Siobhan got up and fixed tea. She handed a cup to Ziva, who accepted it silently, and then pulled a book off a shelf, holding it out. Ziva took it, turning to the cover.

_Ringed With the Stones_

"Her last novel." Siobhan nodded. Slowly, Ziva set her cup down and leafed through the book, returning to the dedication. "'To my wee babes, someday, you will understand why.'" She looked up at Siobhan. "A suicide note?"

"She never left a note. Never told us why. But... obviously she had been considering suicide for quite a while, but she never gave us any impression." The older woman swallowed. "All we know is that she went out that night after kissing the kids and tucking them in, and went up to the Cliffs. They found her body the next day, bashed against the rocks. She left her children and John blaming themselves." Ziva sipped her tea, listening, silent. A wistful look came over Siobhan's face, and she seemed to stare through Ziva to some long forgotten memory.

"But it was not their fault." She said, causing Siobhan to meet her gaze.

"_Aye_, but they blamed themselves. They still do. We all do." She sighed, picking up her cup. "We tried to keep the rest of that year as normal as possible for the children. The fact that she kiled herself two days before her son's birthday didn't make it any easier. We identified her at the morgue the day her body was found, and then, on the thirteenth, had a birthday party for Timothy. He turned ten. And... when he blew out the candles, he told us that his only wish, was that his mother could come back." Tears slipped down her cheeks, as she glanced at the photograph of her niece and nephew on the beach. "He ran off; we found him on the cliffs, saying that he wanted to join her... it took us all afternoon to talk him to come back to the house."

Ziva reached up, wiping her own tears away. "And that photograph?" She asked, nodding to the one in Siobhan's hand.

"Taken at the cliffs the following summer. Kathleen died on the rocks not far from where this photo was taken." She handed it back, pointing to the place of her sister-in-law's death. Ziva took the photo, staring at the little boy. The fact that he had wanted to join his mother broke her heart, and she took a deep breath. "May I ask ye where ye found this?" Siobhan held out the locket. She'd opened it, tears welling at the sight of her niece, nephew and brother smiling from within. Ziva swallowed. Should she tell her? Or would she think the young woman crazy? She decided to take a chance.

Gathering her courage, she said, "I... I was..." _It is not that hard. Just say it! It was her sister-in-law that died. She will understand!_ "I went for a walk, at the Cliffs, and I found it in the dirt. I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb it. It is technically yours-"

But Siobhan shook her head. "No. It is technically Kathleen's but she is no longer walking on this earth. So it belongs to ye. Obviously, she wanted ye to find it." She handed it back to Ziva. A moment passed, before the younger woman took it. "Take care of it. It was precious to her." Ziva nodded, and then set the book back on the desk.

"_Toda_. Thank you." She said, standing to go, but Siobhan grabbed her wrist.

"Please, keep it." The older woman pushed the book towards her. "I have another copy at home. Take it. I can tell, _ye_ are a lover of literature. Kathleen's book will be in good, loving hands."


	11. Chapter 11

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

By the time she left the castle, the sun was starting to set. It wasn't far from the village, besides, she knew her way around by now, and would stop in at the small pub for something to eat before she headed back to the cottage. She'd tucked the book into her bag, and became lost in her music. Siobhan had given her a wealth of information regarding her marine, even as she'd dredged up obviously painful memories of a time that marred her family's history. But, as Ziva thought of it, the older woman had seemed grateful to tell her of the painful past. Clearly, the suicide was something that none of them reflected on much.

But did Kathleen's children? Did they think of it? Did they dwell on it, or ask themselves why, or how, or if they could have stopped her? Or had she planned it all along? Was she ill, perhaps? Did she know she would leave a family behind, and so took the easy way out?

_More questions than answers. Maybe they will never be answered._ As the fog began to roll in, she approached the cliffs and stopped.

Someone walked towards her. She could only make out that it was a woman. And then, just as quickly, the woman disappeared within the rolling fog. Feeling a shiver run down her spine, she continued on, making sure to stay on the path and away from the cliffs.

_"Iva."_

She stopped, turning around.

The woman she'd seen walking towards her stood several feet from her, long sandy hair down around her shoulders in curls. She wore a loose, white blouse that looked like something out of the eighteen-hundreds, over a pair of jeans, with boots and a long, black military-style coat open over the ensemble. Silent, the woman turned to gaze at her; Ziva could see her green eyes, though they were feet apart. _One obituary said that she often dressed in loose, eighteenth-century style blouses, pairing them with jeans and military coats. What did they call her? Oh yeah, 'a modern day female Dickens, Poe, or even Pushkin. A young woman far older than she looked.' _The sea breeze blew her hair back, and Ziva saw the locket around the woman's neck. The same locket Ziva hid within her bag. Suddenly, she knew who the woman was.

Kathleen.

Swallowing, she whispered, "Why? Why did you leave your children? They needed you. Your _son_ needed you." Kathleen just watched her, silent. "You destroyed your family. Your son tried to commit suicide so he could be with you, on his birthday. He wanted you back. He_ needed_ you. They both did. Why would you just... just jump like that? Did you not love them?_ Why_?"

A moment passed, where the two watched each other. And then, as if she were ashamed, Kathleen turned away. She walked forward, through the fog, towards the cliff's edge. Ziva knew what she was going to do; she stepped towards her, reaching out as if to grab her arm and pull her back. _"No!"_ And she watched in horror as Kathleen stepped off the cliff edge, disappearing into the mist.

When she was gone, Ziva looked around, realizing she'd cried out, and after a moment, turned back to the cliff. Kathleen was no longer there; clearly, she was just a figment of Ziva's imagination. Right?

Slowly, Ziva continued on, glancing back every so often until she reached Kinvara. Once she'd bought her dinner and returned to the cottage, she pulled the book out of her bag and flipped to the first chapter. Or, tried to. She couldn't seem to get past the dedication.

_Someday, you will understand why._

Why _what_? Why she committed suicide? Why she left them with this painful burden of self-blame? Why she was depressed? Why she was suicidal? From what Ziva could see, they still didn't understand. She _still_ didn't understand why Tali had been the one to die in that bombing. No one could understand something like that without a reason.

A moment passed before she turned the page and started on the first chapter.

_The fog gave off the faint scent of rainwater as it rolled over the cliffs. As night began to settle over the isle, Margaret pulled her coat closer and made her way towards the cemetery. She knew it was dangerous to wander the moors at this time of night, but she had to be there. She had promised her sister, and she had to keep it. She couldn't break that promise. As she reached the cemetery and slipped through the gates, she felt the cool fingers of death slip up her back, caressing her neck as she moved through the stones, looking for her sister's. Finally, she reached the stone she sought, kneeling down to the read the name. _

_"I am sorry, Elizabeth. But Da forbid me to come, to speak yer name within his presence. But he has gone off to bed, and so I could come. Since the massacre, he has refused to let me out of his sight. He does not understand that Bogside was years ago. He is still stuck in the past. Losing one child was enough for him; so he will not lose another." She reached out, brushing her fingers over the cold stone, tears sliding down her cheeks. "But he does not understand, that while he lost a daughter, I lost a sister." _

Ziva swallowed, closing the book. Those words resonated with her, and she thought back on Tali, on her father.

_"He does not understand that while he lost a daughter, I lost a sister."_

That simple phrase tugged at her heart. It spoke volumes of her own relationship with her father. With Tali. And yet, Kathleen seemed to get it down pat, the relationship between siblings and parents in that one simple sentence. As she pushed the book aside, she brushed a tear away, pulling her knees to her chest. Suddenly, she realized just how exhausted she was. She needed sleep. She could continue her search in the morning.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

"Um, excuse me." The older woman that ran the small coffeeshop looked up, to find Ziva staring at her.

"How can I help _ye_, Lass?" She asked, a thick Irish lilt coloring her words. Ziva swallowed, accepting the coffee the woman handed her, for she'd ordered before deciding to ask. The woman gave her a warm smile, and Ziva relaxed slightly. A moment passed, before she pulled the book out of her bag, setting it on the counter. "Ah, _Ringed With the Stones_. Quite a wonderful book; one can see why she won the Nobel for Literature in eighty-five. Are_ ye_ enjoying it?"

"Yes. I am not very far, but it is wonderful. Um, but... I... I was wondering if you could tell me where she is buried." And at that, Ziva pulled out the obituary, laying it atop the book. "I... I would like to see her grave."

The woman seemed to think for a moment, scanning the obituary. Finally, she took a pencil and quickly wrote down the address. "Kilimnery Cemetery just outside of Kinvara, and is where Kathleen McGee is buried. 'Tis a shame, not that she is buried there, but the Church would not allow her to rest within their cemetery. Because of how she chose to die. But you will find her buried there, in the section known as Literary Hill, beneath an old and crumbling Celtic cross. She and several of the other well-known authors in Ireland are buried there, beneath the shadow of that cross."

"Thank you." She whispered, and the woman nodded. With that information, Ziva headed off, catching a ride to the cemetery. She'd walk back, but balancing everything called for a ride out to the old graveyard.

Once there, she stopped, pulling out her camera and taking a photograph of the gates before slipping through them. The cemetery was beautiful, in its own, heartbreaking way. Stones stuck up out of the ground, some leaning to the side, others to the back, like crooked teeth. Some were so eroded from the weather that the names couldn't be read. Others were brand new, smooth, the writing clear. Weeds sprouted up in some places, reaching out for her as she moved past.

"Literary Hill. _What_ Literary Hill?" She looked around; after several minutes of searching, she came to the conclusion that there was no sign indicating Literary Hill was anywhere near, and so that must mean that there was no Literary Hill. She turned to go, hoisting her bag further up on her shoulder.

_"Iva."_

She stopped, a cool breeze wrapping around her shoulders. Slowly, she turned back, moving towards an old tree, the gnarled roots twisted and pointing back. As she stepped around it, she was surprised to find the small section of the cemetery entirely seperated from the rest. A small iron fence split the two cemeteries in half, leaving the larger half for current funerals and burials. As her gaze moved up, she saw the cross the older woman had told her about.

As she stepped into the small cemetery, she caught sight of the plaque waiting to be read.

_Literary Hill, the resting place of some of Ireland's most well-known authors, including James O'Brien, Michael Patrick, and-_

"Kathleen McGee." She breathed, reading the name. She glanced up before she began picking her way through the graves. Some were older, some relatively new. All were beautiful in their own way. As she reached the back of Literary Hill, she stopped. _No, there is no way that can be it. It... it cannot be her grave..._

She took a deep breath, glancing behind her, but finding she was the only one in the cemetery.

_"Iva."_

Something pushed her forward; perhaps her own curiosity, perhaps it was the spirit of Kathleen herself, but either way, she stepped forward, quietly, carefully, afraid to disturb the body resting beneath her feet. She felt as though she were intruding, and moved to step back. No, she shouldn't be here. This wasn't her place to pry. She had no right to dig into her marine's past-

She stumbled, losing her footing and landing on her back. With the wind knocked out of her, she sat, struggling to get her breathing back. As her breathing returned to normal, she let her gaze wander about the grave. Kathleen was buried beneath a slab of stone, a weeping angel draped over the top, a Celtic cross dangling from her hand; with her information carved in the middle of the stone. It was beautiful in its own way.

Slowly, Ziva pushed herself up, dusting herself off as she moved towards the stone and knelt in front of it. She reached out to touch it, but pulled back. She had no right to touch the stone, and yet... she couldn't help herself. She grabbed her camera, snapping several photographs before reaching out and gently tracing the letters with her fingers. The script engraved upon the stone was itself a beauty, and only added to the stone's own beauty. Her gaze ran over the writing, drinking it in.

_With distance and the coming of grace, _

_I see in you beauty I could never replace_

_In Loving Memory _

_of _

_Kathleen Aislin McGee _

_May 4th, 1956 - September 11, 1988_

Ziva swallowed, something striking her. She pulled out her cd player, put her headphones on, and quickly pressed play. After listening for several minutes, her head snapped up. The inscription on her sister-in-law's stone was the same line in Fiona's song. So... if she was correct, Fiona was talking about _Kathleen's_ death, not Eithne's. Though, it could also be seen as a reference to her sister, Ziva doubted it for some reason. It hadn't been Eithne's phantom that she'd watched jump from the cliffs. It wasn't Eithne's novel she was reading, it was Kathleen's. For some reason, Kathleen wanted the young Israeli to see her stone, to touch it, and realize that she was real, that her son was real, and that Ziva wasn't making this up, like she'd begun to think. A moment passed, before she removed the locket from her bag and laid it at the base of the stone. She said a quick prayer in Hebrew for Kathleen, and then stood, making her way out of the cemetery.

_"Iva."_

She turned back around; great, she was hearing things again. She stuck her hands in her pockets and sighed, but stopped, when her fingers wrapped around something. Slowly, she pulled it out, eyes widening at the sight of the locket in her hand. With a quick glance at the stone, she realized that though she'd returned the locket, Kathleen meant- somehow, from beyond the grave- for her to have it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: More questions, but not _necessarily_ more answers... **

**Thanks to Peglet for reviewing 10 and 11; Reader for reviewing 10, 11 and 12; JonnyP86 and Sazzita for reviewing 12.**

_Maybe they are telling me that to know my marine, I need to know his history first._

She sighed; she hadn't left the cemetery, she wasn't sure if she should. Finally, she gave up, collapsing at the end of the plot, leaving the burial space between her and the stone. Knees up, she watched the stone, waiting, silent. This didn't make any sense. All this supernatural ghost... stuff. She was Jewish, so of course she believed in a God, but _this?_ This was beyond religion, beyond sanity.

She sighed in exasperation and reached for her bag, rummaging around before she pulled out the book. Silent, she opened it to the page she was on, and started to read, ignoring the stone, the grave, the cemetery. Occasionally, she would glance at the stone and then return to the book. Fiona's song played in her cd player, letting her become lost in her reading.

_"Iva."_

She looked up, eyes shifting back and forth, but finding nothing, returned to the book. Eventually, though, her unease got the better of her and she put the novel away, standing and going to the stone. Slowly, she reached out, brushing her fingers over the stone. "I am sorry, for whatever you suffered from. But your son, Timothy, he grew up to be a good man. An American Marine. And I... I..." She stopped, biting her lip. _Say it. She cannot hear you, she is dead! But... but it is her son..._ She shook the thought away, a sad smile tugging at her lips. Swallowing, she whispered, "I am sorry, Kathleen." She dropped the locket on the grave, then gathered her things and left.

When she returned to her room at the cottage, she tossed her bag on the bed and stripped her coat off, wadding it into a ball and throwing it on the end of the bed before making her way to her laptop. Something clattered on floor, and she turned.

Kathleen's locket.

She knelt to pick it up, sighing as she opened it. "So you have decided that I am to keep it, obviously. I cannot leave it at your grave and have it stay there." A moment passed before she took a seat at her laptop, setting the locket on the desk beside the computer. Glancing behind her, she caught sight of her cd player, remembering Fiona's song. She quickly turned it on and pulled up a search engine. Fingers poised over the keys, she stopped, unsure of what to search for. Finally, she typed in,

_Kathleen and Fiona McGee_

What came up was a detailed account of a court case demanding custody of Kathleen's two children, not long after their mother's suicide. Apparently, not long after their mother's suicide, Fiona decided that John wasn't fit to raise his children, and so fought to gain full custody. She drug her sister's good name- a name already synonymous with literature and death- through the mud, blaming John for her death. Apparently, Fiona didn't think he was good enough to raise his children without Kathleen.

Armed with this new information, she closed her laptop and grabbed her bag, remembering to snatch up the locket before she left, heading for Dunguaire Castle. By the time she reached the castle, it was a little after four, and Siobhan was just locking up. "Mrs. O'Rielly!" Siobhan turned, to see Ziva at the gates.

"Ah, Ziva, what can I do for ye?" She asked, making her way to the gates and slipping through them, locking them behind her. The younger woman pulled the first list she'd created all those years ago, and unfolded it, turning it to the back. She held it out, taking a deep breath. In her hasty scrawl, she'd written,

_Custody of the Children of Kathleen McGee_

Siobhan's face fell as she drank in the words, biting her lower lip. She looked up at Ziva, who waited. A moment passed, before she folded the paper up again and handed it back to Ziva. "_Aye_, Fiona fought John for custody of Kathleen's children." And without another word, she moved past the younger woman. Ziva watched her go, glancing back towards the castle.

"Wait!" She took off running to catch up with the older woman. She wasn't going to give up just because Siobhan suddenly wasn't willing to give her the answers she sought. "Please! What happened? Did she win? Did she take the children away?" Siobhan turned to her, anger in her eyes.

"What is it too _ye_, Miss David? _'twas_ years ago, and a black time in our family's history. And that be just what it is- _history_._ There's no need to go digging up the skeletons the dead be buried with! That custody battle nearly destroyed this family, nearly destroyed her children's lives! Fiona had no right-"_ She stopped, suddenly realizing who she was talking to and what she'd said. She took a deep breath and turned away to gather herself. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to lash at _ye_, I just..." She stopped, tears shining in her eyes. A moment passed, before Ziva reached out, taking the older woman's hand.

"I should not have pushed. I am sorry." Ziva whispered. Siobhan shook her head, sniffling.

"Not _yer_ fault, Lass. _Ye_ did not know." She patted Ziva's hand, pulling away and heading to her car. Ziva watched her go, weighing her options carefully. She glanced down at the sheet of paper before stuffing it in her pocket. When she pulled her hand out, she held the locket she'd shoved into her coat pocket before leaving. Kathleen's locket, the very one she'd worn when Ziva saw her jump from the cliff. The locket was open, the two children smiling at her from within. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she looked up.

_"Please!"_ Siobhan stopped, turning back to her. "I do not mean to pry, _but_..." A moment passed, before the older woman nodded.


	14. Chapter 14

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

The small cottage was on the outskirts of Kinvara, not far from the castle or the cliffs. It was beautiful, something out of a fairytale, complete with a small fairy circle in the garden. Inside, the cottage was fairly modern, but still beautiful. Beside the door, hung a sign carved in beautiful stone:_ Gra, Dilseacht, Cairdeas_. From what Ziva remembered from her translation book, it meant _Love, Loyalty, Friendship_.

Siobhan led Ziva into the kitchen, going to the stove to put a pot of tea on. She indicated that Ziva should take a seat in the living room, as she fixed the tea. When that was done, she came back into the living room, set a cup in front of Ziva and settled across from her. Silence filled the space between the two, before Ziva reached into her pocket, pulling out the locket. She set it on the table, asking,

"Why did Fiona want custody? Please, Mrs. O'Reilly."

"Why do ye wish t'know?" Siobhan questioned back. She locked eyes with Ziva, studying the younger woman. A moment passed before the girl reached up and tangled her fingers in the chain of the medallion. She couldn't tell her, could she? Siobhan had been nothing but kind to her, giving her the answers she sought-

"I... I met Lance Corporal McGee-" _Why can you not say his name? Because you do not want to risk a broken heart, perhaps?_ "At a coffeeshop in Tel Aviv when I was fifteen. He was sitting at my table, reading _Lolita_, and I told him to move. He made fun of me by saying that it did not have my name on it." Siobhan chuckled softly.

"_Aye_, that sounds like our Timothy. Always trying to make light of a confrontation." Ziva smiled, glad to see the older woman relax slightly. She sighed, glancing down at her tea cup.

"Eventually, we decided to share the table. We started talking about literature and our favorite authors. I was surprised, when he said that he was eighteen. He did not look it." Siobhan chuckled softly.

"Timothy has always looked younger than he is. From the time he was a wee child-" Siobhan stopped, her gaze drifting off for a moment before she turned back to Ziva. "Please, go on."

The younger woman took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say next. She remembered that day so clearly; it was all she had of him. A fading, old memory. She glanced around the living room, her gaze landing on a portrait sitting on the mantel over the small fireplace. Setting her cup down, she got up, going to it. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a portrait of Kathleen and her sisters-in-law. She recognized Kathleen from the obituary photograph, but had trouble identifying the others.

"We were closer than if we had all been born of the same blood." Siobhan said; Ziva turned as the older woman stood and joined her. Gently, she picked up the photograph, studying the faces. The women were all dressed in various costumes: two were dressed in traditional Irish dance costumes, two were in traditional Irish Renaissance, one wore a dress reminescent of the Jacobite Rebellion, and the last wore a travel coat over a pair of trousers, blouse and corset. A moment passed before Siobhan lovingly caressed each face with her finger. "My sisters and I." She said, at Ziva's confused glance. "Eithne, Fiona, Kathleen and I, and my other sisters-in-law, Diedre and Maeve. We had attended the _Lá Fhéile Pádraig_ celebrations- St. Patrick's Day- in Dublin. Twas a faire, and we could dress up if we so chose." Ziva leaned close, studying the images.

All were smiling, all held each other close, all stared at the camera with either happiness, seduction or teasing. Only Kathleen stared at the camera with a look in her eye that seemed to pierce into the soul. Her long hair was down around her shoulders in curls, much like it had been when Ziva had seen her on the cliffs. A moment passed, before she asked,

"Why did Fiona try to gain custody of Kathleen's children?" Siobhan sighed, moving back to the sofa, the photograph still in her grasp. Ziva followed, sitting beside her, waiting patiently. A moment passed before the older woman glanced at her.

"What happened after_ ye_ met my nephew?" Siobhan asked in reply. Ziva swallowed. She reached for her teacup, taking a sip before speaking.

"We talked for quite a while about literature, and then his CO entered and told him that he was needed back at the base. A... Sergeant Wilkins, I believe." She glanced at Siobhan before continuing on. "He left his copy of Lolita on the table for me and told me that he was glad we both refused to give up the table and then thanked me for keeping him company. He kissed me on the cheek." Siobhan chuckled softly as Ziva's cheeks bloomed with a girlish rose at the memory. She glanced at Siobhan, seeking her approval to continue and the older woman nodded.

"Go on." Taking a deep breath, Ziva set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap.

"When he left, I grabbed the book and rushed after him. I grabbed his hand to stop him from getting into the jeep, and... and it was like a bolt of lightning when we touched." Her blush deepened. "When I let go, I removed my Star of David necklace. My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday-"

"_Ye_ are Jewish?" Ziva nodded. "I thought there was some sort of exotic blood within _yer_ veins." Siobhan said, studying her. Ziva lowered her head, embarrassed, until Siobhan laid a hand over hers. "Please, continue."

"I... I gave him my necklace. And then pressed a kiss to his cheek." Ziva sighed. "And then he got on the jeep and drove off. I tried to follow him, but... He had asked for my name, and I gave it, but I do not know if he heard." Siobhan nodded. "I have told you my story-"

The older woman turned back to the photograph. She picked it up, gently tracing the faces of the two in the middle.

Fiona and Kathleen.

Taking a deep breath, she asked,

"Would _ye_ like more tea, Ziva? _'tis_ going to be a long tale, and _ye_ best get comfortable."


	15. Chapter 15

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

"_Ye_ have to understand, Ziva, that Kathleen and John were deeply in love. They were happy; even in her dark periods, Kathleen was happy when she was around her wee ones. Their marriage was strong, they could have survived anything, except the path Kathleen took. After she won the Nobel in eighty-five-" Siobhan sighed, glancing back at the photograph. "That prize destroyed her life. It brought about pain and heartache that Kathleen never would have acknowledged had she never won. She told me once that she felt as though she were being judged by everyone and everything, as though St. Patrick himself were judging her because of that award." Ziva listened, silent. Siobhan sniffled softly. "She was so brilliant, the problems would have risen eventually, but that award just brought them forward faster."

"I... I read about alcoholism and self-harm..." Ziva whispered, choosing her words carefully. Siobhan nodded.

"_Aye_. She started drinking not long after winning the Nobel. And then harming herself. Kathleen was a very private person, and she hated being shoved into the spotlight like she was. She retreated to Kinvara, to a small cottage just north of the Kinvara, tucked away in the moors, on the edge of the village. When John and the kids returned, they... they were happy. For a time, at least."

She poured another cup of tea for each, and Ziva accepted hers, a thousand questions swirling in her head. She didn't know where to start, or if she should even ask any of them. This was Siobhan's story to tell, not hers. And yet... "Did she try to get help?"

"She tried. And it would wokrk for a time, and she would be better, and then... and then she would read a review on one of her books in the papers or see mentions of that award and all the progress she had made would go away. She would be reminded of the level she was placed at, and how everyone was waiting for her to turn out the next great Nobel-winning novel, and she would breakdown."

Ziva glanced at the photograph again, reaching up to grasp the medallion she wore. Siobhan watched, noticing how she subconsciously rubbed the pendant between her fingers. A moment passed before she said,

"_Ye_ said that Timothy gave that to _ye_?" Ziva nodded. "Kathleen and John bought that medallion for him three months before he was born. _'tis_ tradition in our family to give newborn babes a St. Christopher medallion to protect them as they grow and travel. Timothy wore that from the moment he was born, until he gave it _t'ye_." Ziva glanced down at the medallion around her neck, her self-confidence dropping as she realized that the necklace had been his since birth. Siobhan saw the effect her words hand on the young woman, and reached out, taking her hand. "But if he gave it _t'ye_, then _ye_ were meant to have it. A McGee never gives their medallion away unless the person they give it to means something to them. Obviously _ye_ do, and Timothy saw that."

Ziva sniffled, glancing back at the trinket. Is that why he'd slipped it into the book when he left? Because she was meant to have it? Or because he was being nice? Had he really given it to her, knowing why? Or was it a cruel joke, a trick, played on an innocent, wide-eyed girl?

"Are_ ye_ okay?" She nodded, glancing up at Siobhan.

"Yes. Thank you." She sniffled. "Please, go on."

"The custody battle started long before Kathleen's death. Fiona said that Kathleen wasn't fit to raise Timothy and Sarah, and that John's absence just made it that much harder- even when they were living in the States. When they moved back to Ireland, Kathleen tried to be a mother to her babes, but Fiona..." She bit her lip, thinking. "Fiona just continued to go after her. She was the oldest of the six of us, she saw it as her duty to raise the rest of us, even if we were adults. After Kathleen won the Nobel..."

"Do you think that the award had something to do with it?" Ziva asked, surprised that question had come out of her mouth. Siobhan met her gaze, thinking it over for a moment.

"Perhaps. Fiona had loved to sing, which is why she moved to America. But she never made it big. To see Kathleen win the award, most likely ignited a fire of envy within her. She was the oldest, after all, and she thought _'twas_ her right to succeed first. Not Kathleen's." Ziva sipped her tea, listening intently, drinking in the details of the family of the marine she had become so enamored with. "When Kathleen committed suicide in eighty-eight, Fiona used her suicide to say that she had been an unfit mother. That she had knowingly left her children, that she hadn't cared about them." Siobhan swallowed thickly. "_'twasn't_ true. She loved Timothy and Sarah so much, and I think _'tis_ probably _why_ she committed suicide. She did not want her children to watch her lose her mind, and so she spared them. Only in sparing them, she left them with an even bigger burden."

Ziva reached out, taking her hand. She stayed silent, letting her take her time. Siobhan gave her a small smile.

"She took the battle to the courts, in both America and Ireland. Said that since Kathleen wasn't well enough to care for her children, that John must not be as well. That John had put his career ahead of the expense of his children._ 'twasn't_ true in the slightest. Timothy and Sarah are the world to John; they are the last remainder of Kathleen he has. If he only furthered his career, _'twas_ to give his children a better life. But it did not matter to Fiona. Far as she was concerned, John had abandoned his children just as Kathleen had. His children were raising themselves, and she needed to take over, raise them right." Siobhan shook her head, swallowing. "Fiona could never just let things go; let people go. And she got her wish- for a year, at least. Judges awarded her temporary custody of the kids, and it just about destroyed John. He lost his wife, and then his children..."

Ziva squeezed her hand, giving her strength. The older woman gave her a soft smile, before turning back to the photograph and her story.

"The courts overturned the verdict the year Timothy turned twelve. They returned to their father, and moved back to Ireland for a short time. John moved them back to America when he turned fourteen, and after that, I would only see them at holidays. Fiona still maintains that John abandoned them... but 'tis not true. Never was. John would die for his children. Just as Kathleen did. I think... that she knew she would only get worse, and so spared her family that pain. But she caused so much more." Siobhan took a deep, shaky breath. She reached out, brushing her fingers ove the faces in the photograph. "So many lives destroyed, all because of the way she chose to die."


	16. Chapter 16

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to bunch1 for reviewing 10; Reader for reviewing 13, 14 and 15; JonnyP86 for reviewing 13 and 15; and ****TheRoseShadow21 and Peglet for reviewing 15.**

_There it is._

The medallion was cool against her skin, and she reached up, grasping it tight as she got closer. Just as Siobhan said, the house sat just north of Kinvara, tucked away in the moors, on the edge of the village.

The house was old, abandoned. Yet, in that abandoned state, it was beautiful.

_Kathleen's cottage._

Three days after learning of the custody battle between Fiona and John, Ziva sought out the house Kathleen had spent her last years in.

And she'd found it.

Slowly, carefully, she took a step into the yard, reaching for her camera. Snapping a couple pictures, she made her way to the door, her gaze drinking in the yard. She could see remenants of a garden, a swing, even a fairy circle, perhaps, with little wooden furniture made of sticks and leaves. Built of beautiful grey stone, the door and trim was painted red, to ward off evil spirits and ghosts. Slowly, Ziva reached out, grasping the handle. _No, you should not be poking through here. This was Kathleen's home- the McGee's home, not yours. You have no right._

But she slowly pulled the door open, against her better judgement. The door creaked on its hinges, and Ziva struggled to surpress a gasp as she stepped into the small home. It was beautiful, in its own, forgotten way. The house looked like the family had left in a hurry. Furniture sat, some covered in sheets, others out in the open; the mantel still had photographs of the family on it, in the kitchen, a recipe book lay open on the worn wood table, layers of dust obscuring the ingredients. The curtains hung, casting shadows on the walls. She looked around, unsure of where to start.

_"Iva."_

She turned, her gaze going to the stairs at the back of the living room. The old spiral-staircase creaked as she walked, the steps small and hugging the wall, reducing the space. As she stepped onto the landing of the second floor, she saw the beautiful view of the cliffs out the window. Though it was a small cottage, the rooms were fairly good sized. She stood in what appeared to be a small sitting room, complete with a beautiful desk for writing and a sofa, off of which was a small hallway and three bedrooms plus a bathroom. As she moved down the hall, she stopped. Childish laughter reached her ears, and she turned.

Again, she heard it.

_Coming from the bedrooms._ She started towards the first bedroom on the right, directly next to the bathroom.

A child's room; a little girl's. The twin bed was pushed against the far wall, beneath the window that stared directly at her. A small vanity, carved lovingly from wood sat directly across from the bed, and there was a small rocking chair- big enough for a little girl. Slowly, Ziva stepped into the room, glancing around. She knelt, picking up a doll that lay on the floor. A beautiful little porcelain doll in traiditional Irish dance clothes. She studied the intricate detail work on the dress, before gently caressing the doll's head of dark curls. Slowly, tenderly, she set the doll on the rocking chair, before going to the small door that opened to the closet. Clothing still hung in the closet; she could see Irish traditional dance costumes, school uniforms, play clothes, coats. Small shoes- the size of a child's foot- were lined up in the bottom of the closet, scarves and gloves on top. She moved away from the closet, turning to the wall next to the bed. Shelves balanced against the wall, medals and trophies, all for Irish dance.

Childish laughter came from the hallway, and Ziva turned, hurrying from Sarah's room and continuing to the room next door. Slowly, she pushed open the door, unsure of what she'd find. _This room belonged to your marine, when he was a boy._

Like Sarah's room, there was a twin bed, pushed against the window, on the opposite wall; a bookshelf sat directly across from the bed, and there was a small desk beside the bookcase. A dresser sat beside the door that opened on the closet. She made her way to the bookcase, finger moving over the spines. A lot of the classics, just as she remembered him saying that he'd grown up reading the classics. She turned to the bed, but found nothing of significance and so made her way out of the hall and towards the master bedroom.

Slightly bigger than the children's rooms, it had a beautiful hand-carved full-mattressed bed pushed against the center of the back wall. A beautiful matching dresser stood at the other end of the room, beneath the window. A hopechest sat at the foot of the bed. This was Kathleen and John's room. It was beautiful, in its own way. As she exited the room, she strode across to the bathroom; an old, claw-footed tub sat against the parallel wall, with a sink and toilet. And a medicine cabinet was above the sink. Glancing behind her, Ziva went to the sink, reaching up and opening the cabinet. She gasped softly.

Pill bottles. Dozens and dozens of pill bottles.

As she read each name- Fluoxetine, Indalpine, Zimelidine; all marked nineteen-eighty-seven or earlier- she began to realize what they were for. She'd discovered that Kathleen was depressed, but these were_ heavy_ antidepressants. Heavy antidepressants with high doses.

_"Iva."_

She turned from the cabinet, and after returning the bottles to their places, she hurried downstairs. As she stepped into the living room, she listened for something- anything. A warm breeze blew through the house, rustling the curtains and sheets and blowing her hair back. She choked on a gasp as the air suddenly turned ice cold, wrapping itself around her before disappearing upstairs. When it was gone, she reached up, grabbing the medallion, her gaze going to the mantel. The photograph of Kathleen and her children stared back at her, all smiling faces and bright eyes.

Slowly, Ziva made her way towards the mantel, reaching out to pick up the framed photo. In it, Kathleen sat on a wooden swing, with her daughter on her lap, and her son's arms around her neck from behind. She was smiling happy. Ziva reached out to pick up the frame, before thinking better of it and turning to go. She got halfway across the living room before another gust of wind came up. Breaking glass forced her to turn back, and she looked down, to see the photograph within the broken frame; glass shards lay on the floor. Kneeling down, she reached out and carefully picked it up, the glass falling at her feet. As she moved to return it to the mantel, something caught her eye. The photograph bulged forward a little. Doing so quickly, before she lost her nerve, she turned the frame over and removed the back.

Laying within the frame, pressed back against the photograph, was a folded up piece of paper.


	17. Chapter 17

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Slowly, carefully, she lifted the folded paper out of the frame, examining it before looking around. _What the hell do you think you're doing? Put it back! Put it back where you found it!_ She quickly returned it to the back of the frame, then grabbed the back and fixed it so that the paper was hidden. Pulse leaping, she slid the photograph into her bag, and then slipped out of the house, closing it quietly before rushing down the street.

When she returned to her room at the cottage, she climbed onto the bed and removed the drawstring bag and the photograph. She stared at it for several minutes, tracing their faces before taking a deep breath and flipping it over. In a few short minutes, she'd removed the back of the frame, and sat staring at the folded paper. Taking a deep breath, she picked it up, slowly unfolding it.

It was some sort of document.

She slowly smoothed it out on the bed, her gaze traveling over it, drinking everything in. The writing was faded in parts, the paper weak in places, but in good condition. A moment passed in silence as she searched for a clue to what the paper was, when her eyes landed on it.

_Last Will and Testament of Kathleen McGee_

Ziva started, but continued to read, her mouth dropping open as she got further down the document. She had left everything to John and her children, in case of her death. But... that didn't sound right. Ziva had read somewhere that after her death, everything had gone...

Suddenly, she didn't remember.

All logic said that it would go to her husband and children, but when she'd read the articles, they'd claimed that John and kids hadn't recieved a thing- not of Kathleen's wealth from her books, anyway. She continued to scan it, searching for any kind of clue as to why this was hidden. Her eyes locked on the date,

April Seventeenth, Nineteen-Eighty-Six

Two years_ before_ her death in eighty-eight. Ziva swallowed, and then grabbed her things, climbing off the bed. She had to talk to Siobhan. Something didn't feel right.

She went to the castle first, before trying Siobhan's home. Nervously, she waited for the older woman to open the door, hoping she wasn't disturbing her. After several minutes, the door finally opened, and Siobhan's green eyes sparked in confusion. "Ziva, what are ye doing here this time of day?" Ziva licked her lips.

"I have to show you something. May I come in?" The older woman quickly stepped back, allowing her entrance. "_Toda._ Um... I... I went to Kathleen's house- I know I should not have, but I wanted to see it for myself. It is a beautiful house," She said, as Siobhan shut the door and headed into the kitchen. Ziva followed, talking. "And I... I admit that I tresspassed. I did not mean to."

"'_tis_ no problem. The house is still in John and Kathleen's names; after she died, he moved the children back to America, but couldn't bother to sell the house, because of her. So he kept it, but he never returned. Please, go on." Siobhan said, pouring two cups of tea and pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. Ziva accepted hers with silent thanks and sat, putting her bag on the table to pull something out. Siobhan listened as she talked, watching as she pulled the drawstring bag out, before the book and the photograph.

"I found this, in the living room. When I went to leave, it fell off the mantel and broke. So I went back over to put it back on the mantel and noticed a bulge in the photograph." Siobhan pushed the photograph back towards Ziva.

"_'twas_ taken in the garden; a week later, she was dead." Ziva took the photograph, turning it over to remove the back.

"When I removed the back of the frame, I found this." She lifted up a folded piece of paper. Siobhan raised an eyebrow, curious. Forcing herself to be calm, Ziva slowly unfolded the paper, turning it to face Siobhan before she laid it in front of her. "It says that it is her last will and testament. But... that does not make sense. I have read articles that say her family did not recieve anything- no royalties from book sales, nor any money from her signings-" Siobhan's face fell as she read the document. "Yet, this clearly says that everything goes to them, and it is dated two years before she died."

"John and the children never recieved anything because Kathleen put it all in someone else's name. When she died, everything she earned after death would go to someone else, not John or her family. I do not know who, for she never revealed it _t'me_. _'tis_ why John moved the children back to America; his job with the American Navy would provide the funds he needed to properly care for Timothy and Sarah, but _'twas_ the hardest decision he had to make. He did not wish to leave Ireland. None of them did, but they had no choice. Without the royalties from Kathleen's writings, and no reason to why she changed her will, John could not afford to raise them in Ireland. She kept her cards close to her vest, Kathleen did, with everything."

"I have discovered that from the moment I started this adventure." Ziva muttered, crossing her arms on the table. She sighed as Siobhan scanned the paper. A moment passed, before she said, "There was a writing desk in the sitting room on the second floor. Could there be something in one of the drawers?"

The older woman seemed to consider it for a moment. "That desk was where Siobhan wrote 'Ringed With the Stones', she spent a good majority of her time there, until the weeks before her death. She seemed to avoid it like the Great Famine itself up until she died. There could be something there, but it there is, I do not know where to look. It has been years since I have been in that house." She reached over, patting Ziva's hand. "I believe an outsider's eyes may be just what is needed to find whatever Kathleen hid within that desk. _Adh mór ort_." At Ziva's confused look, she clarified, "It means 'good luck'. You have your language; I have mine."


	18. Chapter 18

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

The desk was beautiful; an old, roll-top desk with multiple drawers on it, it was carved lovingly out of dark wood. Ziva searched, trying to leave everything as she'd found it as she searched for whatever Kathleen had hid. So far, she'd come up empty. She sat back on her haunches, brushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she reached up, grasping the medallion.

Her marine had worn it since birth. It was precious to him, and yet, he'd given it to her. It had been from his mother, the same woman she'd seen on the cliffs in the mist, the same woman that won a Nobel for Literature, and later committed suicide by throwing herself off the same cliffs Ziva had walked passed for weeks. The same woman so shrouded in mystery that Ziva wasn't sure what was truth and what was legend.

"I have looked all over this desk, short of tearing it apart, and have found nothing. There is nothing here-" She stood, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

_"Iva."_

She stopped, turning back towards the desk. Something tugged her forward, and she knelt down, ducking underneath the desk. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the woodwork, her nail catching on something at the back. She stopped, catching her breath. Something flashed before her eyes, and she struggled to blink it away.

_She gently removed the bottom, glancing over her shoulder. She could her Timothy and Sarah playing outside in the front, laughing and giggling. She had to do this now, before they came in. They couldn't know, not until after she was gone. Quickly slipping it into the space, she returned the bottom, and moved back, standing._

After pressing on the wood for several minutes, Ziva felt something on the bottom give, and she moved to get a better look. She pressed again, and again, the bottom gave. _No. It cannot be..._

Pressing firmer, she pushed the bottom towards her, grunting slightly as the bottom gave. Her mouth dropped in surprise as she watched the bottom of the desk fold down and then completely come off.

A false bottom.

There was a false bottom in this desk.

Once she'd removed it, she reached up, feeling around the space. Her fingers brushed against the far side of the desk, brushing against something. Slowly, her hand returned to it; she pressed again, and after a moment, managed to wrap her fingers around it before pulling it out. She sat back, holding Kathleen's hidden secret in her hands.

It was something wrapped within several sheets of paper. Slowly, Ziva unfolded each piece; they were portions of a manuscript, two whole chapters of a new manuscript that Kathleen had obviously never finished. Gently, she laid each piece down, before turning back to the thing she held.

It was a small, wooden box with a Celtic knot carved into it. No, not just any knot; a_ wedding_ knot.

The box was truly a work of art, beautifully engraved and lovingly built.

_This_ was what Kathleen had hidden? A _box_?

After a moment, she slowly lifted the lid. Nestled within, against a red velvet cushion, were two gold and emerald rings, resting against a slip of paper. She lifted the rings out, confused by their very being, before turning her attention to the paper. It was hard to make out Kathleen's handwriting but eventually, she was able to make it out enough to whisper, "'_Find L.J. Gbs'_? Who is L.J. Gbs?" A moment passed before she set the box down and returned the bottom to the desk. Then, she gathered the box and the manuscript pages, tucking them into her bag before leaving.

By the time she made it to Siobhan's she was out of breath but excited about her latest find. Bursting through the door, she made a beeline for the kitchen, removing her bag as she went. Siobhan was just removing the tea kettle from the stove when Ziva spoke. "I found it! I found what Kathleen had hidden!" The older woman finished fixing tea, bringing the cups to the table as Ziva began digging in her bag, eventually pulling out her latest treasures. "They were in the false bottom of her desk in the sitting room upstairs. It was this box, and the box was wrapped in this," Ziva said, setting both things on the table in front of Siobhan. "They look like pages from a manuscript."

Slowly, Siobhan lifted one of the pages, reading it silently. She nodded, looking up at Ziva. "Aye, they are. Kathleen had told me that she was working on something new, but..." She stopped, her eyes going to the box Ziva had opened up.

"I also found these in the box." She held the two rings out to the older woman. The older woman's green eyes flicked from Ziva's face to the rings resting in her palm, before she set the page down and took the rings. Siobhan slowly took a seat at the table, Ziva following, waiting patiently as the woman became lost in some long forgotten memory.

"These were Kathleen's. They were her mother's. Fourteen carat gold, and twelve karat emeralds, exceedingly valuable- at the time- for the weight of the stones."

"Both were her mother's?" Siobhan nodded, meeting Ziva's eyes.

"_Aye_. Both were gifts from her_ Da_; one, given to her mother when she was born, and the other, on her wedding day, to remind her of her heritage. Kathleen recieved them when she turned sixteen, and she planned on giving one to each of her children. One for Timothy, one for Sarah, to remind them of her. But they disappeared, and Kathleen never mentioned them again. Now we know where she hid them."

"I also found this." Ziva said, sliding the slip of paper towards Siobhan as she laid the rings back in the box and closed the lid. "Who is L.J. Gbs?"

"I do not know, Lass." She sighed. "The last two weeks before her death, Kathleen... Kathleen was... unwell. She barely ate, spoke little, but wore a smile whenever questioned. Hard wrote a word. Or, at least, to us it seemed._ 'twas_ a gifted soul, John's Kathleen, but often the most gifted are also the most troubled and tragic." She returned the paper to the box, shut it, and then slid it and the manuscript pages towards Ziva. "They are_ yers_ now." Ziva shook her head.

"No, they belong to you. You are family-"

"_Aye_, I am. But Kathleen has obviously designated _ye_ to be the bearer of her secrets."


	19. Chapter 19

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

_"Kathleen has designated ye to be the bearer of her secrets."_

She sat back against the headboard, everything spread out around her- the cross, the book, the manuscript pages, will, witch ball, locket, ring, photographs- all of it, everything, spread about the bed before her. She had spent hours going over everything, and come up with nothing. Laying her head back against the board, she played with the medallion, turning it over and over in her hands. This journey, this adventure, was beginning to seem pointless.

She had a menagerie of clues, but no real way to connect them.

Sighing, she sat up, looking over everything again. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the first things she'd recieved- the Witch's ball, the claddagh ring, and the cross.

Ari's gifts for her. He was the one who'd sent her on her- what? Quest? Mission? Adventure? Ah, hell, journey worked just as good. If she took those things out of the equation-

She quickly returned them to the bag, setting it off to the side before turning back to the rest. So, that just left...

"Everything else." She muttered. Sighing, she got up, going to the desk and picking up her cd player. Returning to the bed, she put her headphones on and pressed play, Fiona's song filling her ears. She studied everything before reaching out and grabbing the photograph of the children. She glanced around, before grabbing the locket. "These are Kathleen's children, and their photographs are in the locket. She was wearing the locket when she left to die. She won the Nobel for Literature. Okay, so that I am sure about." She set the objects aside, turning to the rest. She put the obits she'd printed out with the locket and photograph.

"This was her last novel." She said, picking up _Ringed With the Stones_ and setting it with the other things she'd seperated out. "She is buried at Literary Hill. And after she died, Fiona fought for custody of her children." She turned to the rings and manuscript. "She must have been working on a new manuscript when she died, and these were her mother's rings, that she was going to give to her children." She pulled the slip of paper out of the box. "But who is L.J. Gbs?" She tried to think, but nothing came up, no names, no companies, nothing. Giving up on that one clue, she turned instead to the will. "And this... this leaves everything to her family. Her children. And yet... Siobhan said that someone else got everything."

She climbed off the bed, going to her laptop and pulling up the search engine. Quickly, she typed in,

_The Last Will and Testament of Author Kathleen McGee_

She clicked on the first link that came up, and quickly scanned the page, before stopping. "No. No, that cannot be right!" She got up, grabbing the will off the bed and returning to the desk. She read both things quickly, before turning back to the bed. Suddenly, everything made sense.

Without a word, Ziva gathered everything into her back and rushed from the room. She had to let Siobhan know. Without thinking, she rushed to the older woman's house, knocking rapidly on the door when she got there. It took a few moments but eventually, Siobhan answered, pulling the door open. Confusion filled her green eyes as she stared at the younger woman. "Ziva? What are _ye_-"

"I know who recieved everything of Kathleen's!" She cried, entering the house as Siobhan slowly closed the door. Siobhan shook her head, not comprehending.

"Ziva, how could _ye_ possibly figure-"

"I found a website that documents the verdicts from old, closed custody battles. Kathleen's was among them!" She cried, grabbing Siobhan's hand and tugging her towards the kitchen. Once there, Ziva pulled everything out of her bag, including her laptop. She quickly logged on, pulling up the page she'd saved. She scrolled down before stopping and turning it towards Siobhan. "See?"

The older woman quickly read through the passage, her green eyes widening. "This cannot be-"

"It is. Because her death was still fresh, the court kept it sealed. But since years have passed, they opened it, putting the verdict online. That includes her last will and testament." She quickly began spreading everything out. Unfolding the will, Ziva laid it down flat, next to Kathleen's photograph. "Everything, all the royalties from her books, from the sales, was supposed to go to John and her children after her death. She left it for them." She rummaged around in her bag again, pulling something out that she'd stuffed into her bag on her way over. "I stopped by the Kinvara court house, and asked for a copy of her will." She swallowed, setting the copy next to the original. Gently she smoothed it out. "See? The signatures do not match. When I asked, the man even said that he did not believe that was Kathleen's signature."

Siobhan studied both, shaking her head. "No, 'tis her signature, just... this was done weeks before her death."

"And this was done two years before her death. Why would she suddenly change her mind?" Ziva asked. Siobhan gently pushed the younger girl into a chair, fixing a cup of tea and setting it in front of her. "Were you with her when she signed the last time?" Siobhan shook her head.

"No. I wasn't. My husband had been in an accident, and I 'twas at hospital with him. He didn't make it." The younger woman reached out, taking her hand and squeezing. Siobhan gave her a soft smile.

"Did John go with her?" Another shake of her head, Siobhan's eyes filling with tears.

"No. John was at work. But Fiona was visiting from the States, and she took Kathleen to fill out the paperwork. She made sure that-" Siobhan stopped, coming to the same conclusion as Ziva. "that she recieved everything." She swallowed, struggling to take a deep, calm breath. "I _should_ have known. My own sister." She locked eyes with Ziva as the younger woman swallowed.

"It was Fiona."


	20. Chapter 20

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to JonnyP86 and Sazzita for reviewing 16; earthdragon, Stargazer22123, Lunastar96, TheRoseShadow21 and Peglet for reviewing 19; and Reader for reviewing 16, 17, 18, and 19.**

"But... but _why_? Why would she do that to her own sister-in-law?" Ziva asked, not fully understanding. Siobhan took a deep breath, wrapping her hands around her mug.

"Because, Fiona is the oldest, she has always felt as though she deserved everything. She has always made sure everything went her way, and when it didn't, she would bully _ye_ until things _did_ go her way. But Kathleen stood up to her." Siobhan stood, going into the living room and picking up the photograph on the mantel. She returned, gently caressing the faces. "Kathleen and Fiona never got along. From the moment Kathleen entered the picture, Fiona had it out for her. She was convinced that Kathleen had gotten pregnant to trap John and destroy the family name."

"So she... she resents her own nephew?" Siobhan met her gaze.

"_Aye_, in a way. She has always painted Kathleen as the woman who destroyed our family. Who ruined the McGee name and abandoned her babes. But_ 'twasn't_ Kathleen at all. She loved her wee ones. She loved John. She always had. They had met once before, as children, and John told me that she was the _lass_ he would marry." She chuckled softly. "He was right. And they were happy. Happy and young and so in love."

"And Fiona?" Siobhan sighed, her gaze going to her oldest sister.

"Suffered a miscarriage; I think the fact that Kathleen could bear children and she couldn't stung deeply. _'twas_ one more thing about Kathleen for Fiona to fixate on. And she... managed to convince herself that Kathleen was unfit to raise her children, and so went after them for custody, saying that John was an absent father and that Kathleen was a danger to herself and her babes." She glanced at Ziva. "_'twasn't_ true. _Aye_, Kathleen had had problems with her mental health, but that_ 'twas_ what made her such a beloved writer, what won her the Nobel- her ability to transfer the emotions she was dealing with to the page and spin a beautiful tale. But her winning the Nobel only made her illness all that much worse-"

"Because everyone was expecting her next great work." Ziva finished. Siobhan nodded.

"_Aye_. To the point where she wasn't sleeping. John told me that she would often stay up at night and sit in the rocking chair in the sitting room and watch the stars through the window. Her doctor prescribed more antidepressants to keep her calm and normal, and they worked for a time. By the time she died, Kathleen had been on one medication after another, because she said that the ones she was on at the time didn't work, and so he gave her more, different prescriptions. The early days of medicating for mental illness were sketchy at best, and made the patient highly susceptable to suggestion, and I think Fiona knew-"

"And so took advantage of that." Siobhan nodded. "And that's why Kathleen changed her will to leave everything to Fiona and hid her real one."

"_Aye_. By the end, Kathleen was paranoid, hiding meaningless little trinkets about the house, talking to herself; only_ truly_ herself when she was with her family, with her babes." She glanced at the last photograph of Kathleen and her children together. "But alone... alone, she was dangerous. I think Fiona saw Kathleen breaking down and decided to use her to get what she wanted."

"Custody of her kids and the royalties to her books." Ziva finished. Siobhan sighed, nodding as she sipped her tea.

"But she could not get custody while Kathleen was still alive, because John would be awarded-"

"So she had to wait until Kathleen died." Ziva bit her lip, thinking. Should she even consider asking? How would she react? Clearing her throat, she whispered, "Did... did Fiona_ push_ Kathleen off the cliff?"

Siobhan sighed, shrugging. "I do not know. But honestly,_ 'twould_ not surprise me if she had." They sat in silence for several minutes, before Ziva turned to her.

"This is going to sound strange, but... um... what... what was her profession before she became a singer? Fiona's?" Ziva asked, picking up her cup. Siobhan sighed, rubbing her face.

"She worked as a pharmaceutical aide- up until Kathleen died, and then she quit, and decided to become a singer. But until then, she was helping Kathleen with her medications, making sure she took her doses and stayed regular on them. John was perfectly capable of looking after Kathleen, but when he was away on work-"

"Fiona volunteered to look after her." Siobhan nodded. "Did she look after the children too?"

"Aye, she did. Though Timothy kept a good eye on Sarah, and they spent the majority of their time outside in the garden. Kathleen often let them run wild in the hills- but they always stayed close to home. The only time they didn't was the spring before Timothy turned nine. Kathleen had let them go play, warning them to stay in th hills and only the hills- to not go near the cliffs. But Sarah... she chased a butterfly, clear to the cliffs, and when it flew off, she leaned over the edge to reach for it. Timothy managed to grab her in time before she went over, but when he turned and pushed her back, he slipped somehow, fell over the side. Sarah's screams brought us all from the house." Siobhan took a deep breath. "My husband was still alive at the time, and he managed to pull Timothy back. Kathleen was distraught. Fiona and I held her back, for fear she'd go over the cliffs herself..." She stopped, realizing something.

"What is it?" Ziva asked, setting her cup down.

"Although, if Fiona is behind this... now that I think of it... she looked, almost_ gleeful_ that Timothy was hanging off the edge, almost as if she wanted him to fall, and for Kathleen to go after him."


	21. Chapter 21

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Ziva swallowed, the biscuit a lump of stone in her throat. Siobhan had asked her to stay for dinner, and the two had talked about their various experiences growing up. When Ziva had left, Siobhan had sent some of the leftovers with her, saying that the girl needed a good homecooked meal every once in a while. Ziva had thanked her and hurried back to the cottage before climbing into bed and snoring as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Now, she sat on the bed in her room the next morning, going over everything she'd gathered since starting this adventure. Since learning that Fiona had worked at a pharmacy when Kathleen died, it was looking more and more like Fiona had gotten rid of Kathleen, yet she couldn't prove it. She picked up the slip of paper in the box, and lay back against the pillows, confused.

"L.J. Gbs. L.J..." She struggled to think of what the two letters could stand for. A moment passed, before she gathered everything into her bag and slung it over her shoulder before leaving.

She hadn't meant to return to the house, but her feet had led her there. Taking a deep breath, she glanced around, her gaze landing on the swing- where the last photograph of Kathleen with her children was taken. She swallowed, pulling the photograph out of her bag. As she made her way towards the swing, something made her stop.

Childish laughter.

She turned back, to see the swing swaying gently back and forth. After a moment, she removed her bag and set it down with the photograph and took a seat on the swing. She took a deep breath, reaching up to grasp the medallion.

_"Ma! Máthair! Mams! Come play!" Childish laughter filled the air, and she stood, glancing out the window. Timothy stood in the yard, waving to her. "Mams, come play, please!" She watched Timothy rush from the window, heading to the front of the house. A moment passed before she rushed from the window, down the stairs and out of the house, unaware that her sister-in-law was following, camera in hand._

_As she stepped outside, she saw her children at the swing. Timothy was pushing Sarah on the swing, but the little girl leapt from the swing as it was coming back to her brother, and rushed to her. "Mams!" She knelt, accepting the small arms that went around her neck. A laugh escaped her throat as she swung her daughter within her embrace, stopping and pressing a kiss to her head. Sarah giggled, her gaze going to something at the gate. She turned, her daughter in her arms, to see a younger man in making their way towards them. She shifted Sarah on her hip, as Timothy rushed towards them, hiding behind her legs._

_She smiled when she realized who it was. The man wore Marine fatigues- United States Marine fatigues. He looked to be about thirty, with dark hair and the brightest blue eyes ever seen. He carried something in his hands, that he pressed into her palm when he got close. "Leroy. 'tis been a long time."_

_"Kathleen, how are you?" He nodded to her, before going towards her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Sarah buried her head in her shoulder, peeking at him with one eye; Timothy peeked around her legs, watching the man with curiosity._

_"Best as I can be." She glanced down at her children. "Timothy, Sarah, say hello." Both hid, shy around the strange man. "You know Mr. Leroy. He works with Da, remember? He made yer beautiful furniture." The children continued to hide, until Timothy stepped around his mother. Slowly, he held out a small hand, looking up at the man with wide green eyes. He swallowed, frightened._

_"Hello, Mr. Leroy." He whispered. The man glanced down at the boy, before kneeling to his level. Timothy scurried back behind his mother before realizing that the man had knelt down to his height. Slowly, he returned to the man, watching him. At nine, he was still cautious around strangers, mainly because he was so close to his family. The older man gave him a small smile, his blue eyes watching the child as he held out a hand._

_"Call me Gibbs." He replied, as the child took his hand and shook it. The man's hand was rough, calloused, due to the wood he worked miracles on. Timothy licked his lip, nervous, before he whispered,_

_"Mr. Gibbs." The man chuckled, standing when he released Timothy's hand. He turned to her, watching as she set Sarah back on her feet. The girl rushed to join her brother behind their mother's legs. By then, she'd opened the package he'd given her when he first arrived. She gasped; it was the box she would later hide within the false bottom of her desk. _

_"Oh Leroy, 'tis beautiful. Ye made this for us?" He nodded. _

_"Yes ma'am. Just as John requested. The wedding knot took a little longer than expected, but I wanted to get it right." She shook her head. _

_"'twould have been perfect no matter what, Leroy, thank ye." He nodded. "And it fits both rings?"_

_"Yes, so that when you renew your vows, they will safely housed within." Her eyes widened as she opened the box, revealing the red velvet cushion before closing it._

_"And once our vows be exchanged again, I will keep my mother's rings within, so that Timothy and Sarah will have them in a safe place." She went to him, wrapping him in a hug. "Thank ye, Leroy. 'tis perfect." The marine wrapped her in a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek._

_"You're welcome, Kathleen. It's the least I can do for you."_

_She pulled away, staring into his eyes. "Ye can look after my babes when I am gone." She whispered, holding his face in her hands. "Ye are my stepbrother, after all, and if something happened to John and I, I would trust no one more to look after and raise my babes than ye."_

Ziva's eyes snapped open, and she looked around. After a moment, she quickly rummaged around in her bag, pulling out the box and the slip of paper. "L.J. Gbs." Swallowing, she grabbed a pen, turning the paper over and quickly jotting down,

_Leroy J. Gibbs_


	22. Chapter 22

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

She had spent four days searching the archives for a Leroy Gibbs. Discovering that he was Kathleen's stepbrother only made her that much more determined to find the man. Pulling up the latest file, she skimmed through it, before stopping.

_Leroy Jethro Gibbs, son of Ann O'Brien and Jackson Gibbs_.

That gave her the names of his parents, but she still didn't know how Kathleen was involved.

_Kathleen O'Brien McGee and Leroy Jethro Gibbs_

After several minutes of searching, something came up. She clicked it, pulling up papers about an adoption. Leaning close to read the small, tidy cursive, she whispered,

_"... that one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, son of Ann O'Brien and Jackson Gibbs, is hereby, upon the death of Ann Gibbs, adopted as the stepson of Siobhan O'Brien Patrick, Ann O'Brien's older sister, and mother of daughter Kathleen O'Brien._ So they were stepsiblings. Because her parents adopted her cousin." She shook herself and continued to read on. Quickly, she jotted down a hasty family tree on a piece of paper at the desk.

"So... Ann O'Brien Gibbs and Siobhan O'Brien Patrick were sisters... Ann married Jackson Gibbs, and Siobhan married William Patrick..." She turned back to the article. "Ann and Jackson had Leroy, and Siobhan and William had Kathleen... Ann died of cancer, and had asked Siobhan to... move to America and raised Leroy..." She bit her lip, confusing herself. Quickly, she scribbled everything else out and jotted it all down simply.

_Ann O'Brien married Jackson Gibbs, had one son, Leroy Jethro_

_Siobhan O'Brien married William Patrick, had one daughter, Kathleen _

_Siobhan and Ann were sisters_

_Siobhan's husband William died in an accident when Kathleen was seventeen_

_Ann died of cancer when Leroy was sixteen; she left in her will that she wanted Siobhan to raise him as her son_

_Siobhan adopted Leroy not long after and moved to America to be closer to look out for him _

_By adoption rights, Leroy and Kathleen were stepsiblings, by birth, they were cousins_

She sat back against the chair, staring at everything she'd written down. Turning back to the slip of paper, it all made sense, or was starting to. Siobhan and her sister Ann were close, because they were sisters, and so their children of course would be just as close. It made sense that Ann would ask Siobhan to look after her son and her husband after her death, and that Siobhan would agree and do, once her daughter was old enough and on her own. Taking a deep breath, she gathered everything before rushing from the room, heading for Siobhan's house.

She found the older woman just leaving the house, headed for the market. "Siobhan, I know who L.J. is!" The woman stopped, staring at her, surprised.

"Ziva..." She stopped, slightly confused. When she realized that Ziva had something important to say, she linked her arm through the girl's. "Come with me. _Ye_ can tell me on the way to the market." As the two walked, Ziva related what she'd found out.

"L.J. is man named Leroy Jethro Gibbs, he's Kathleen's cousin, but when his mother died of cancer, her sister adopted him and moved to America, to raise him as her stepson. He made the box for Kathleen, so she and John could keep their wedding rings safe so that they could renew their vows. He made the furniture in Kathleen's house. He was a Marine. An American marine, like-"

"Like Kathleen's son grew up to be." Siobhan finished. Ziva nodded.

"Did you ever meet him?" She asked, glancing at the older woman as they reached the market and began browsing. Siobhan sighed, shaking her head.

"Unfortunately, I never have. And Kathleen only vaguely talked about him. She did mention that he built the furniture in the cottage for her and John as an anniversary gift. Told me that he_ 'tis_ a master carpenter." She picked up a couple sprigs of rosemary, smelling it silently before bagging it and setting it into her bag. Ziva wandered the stalls, drinking in the colors and scents. "Have _ye_ found anything?" Ziva turned, to see Siobhan beside her, her basket filled. She shook her head. "Come on, _ye_ can help me make dinner. We can discuss Kathleen over a hot meal."

After they returned to Siobhan's and started dinner, she found herself going over little details in her head. "Why did Kathleen's son join the Marines? Was it because of John?" Siobhan added the rosemary to the stew, thinking.

"Timothy told us he wanted to join the Marines because of both his father and Kathleen's brother. The man who came to deliver the box the day that photograph was taken." She nodded towards the image of Kathleen and her children.

"Were you there that day?" Siobhan shook her head.

"No. Maeve was, though, she took the photograph. My brother Connor's wife. She passed away six months after Kathleen's death. Contracted HIV from a blood transfusion a year before, died in March, on St. Patrick's Day. She was a gifted photographer. Connor was never the same after her death. He died of alcohol poisoning two years after burying his wife." She quickly wiped a tear away, giving Ziva a small smile.

"So, he joined the Marines because of Mr. Gibbs?" She asked, setting the salad on the table. Siobhan nodded, wiping her hands on a towel.

"_Aye_. He became a Lance Corporal before being honorably discharged."

Ziva's head snapped up from setting the silverware. Had she heard correctly? "Um... di... discharged?" She asked, feeling like she didn't know what the word meant. Siobhan turned to her, setting a bowl of stew at Ziva's place and then hers.

"_Aye_, he was. Honorably discharged with a purple heart... and a silver star, I believe? I grew up with two brothers who joined the military, and I made up my mind to not marry a military man. So I married a doctor instead." Siobhan said, pulling out a chair at the table. "Shall we?"

Ziva swallowed, asking softly, "When was he discharged?" The older woman seemed to think.

"Ninety-seven, I believe. November, or December. But I _canna_ be sure." Ziva nodded, giving her a small smile of thanks.


	23. Chapter 23

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

_"Honorably discharged in ninety-seven. After that, I have no certainty of where my nephew's got off too. 'tis been years since I saw him last."_

Ziva sighed, staring at the medallion, Siobhan's words ringing loud in her head. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. After sharing a meal with Siobhan and discussing what she'd found, she'd returned to the cottage, and had stayed up another three hours, trying to figure things out. Her gaze found the red numbers on the alarm clock.

Ten forty-five P.M.

Heaving a sigh, she got out of bed, getting dressed and grabbing her things. She slipped out of the cottage, rushing through the night, headed for the outskirts of the village.

Once there, she made her way to the cemetery, slowly picking her way through the stones before coming upon Literary Hill. The flashlight she'd brought with her from Israel- because you never knew when the power would fail and you wouldn't be able to find any candles- was hard in her hand, the round orb of light casting a single beam of light on each stone. She knew where the stone was, but in the darkness, it was entirely different. Everything was backwards. Everything looked strange.

She jumped, turning at the sound of a twig snapping. Taking a deep breath, she realized it was her own foot on the twig, and forced herself to take a deep breath. "It is just a cemetery, Ziva, nothing to fear. No one will hurt you, they are all resting comfortably..." She swallowed. "In their coffins." Cemeteries had always scared her, more for the fact that she had never handled death well than the actual act of burying someone. After Tali's death... "There you are."

The light landed on Kathleen's grave, and she rushed to it, dropping to her knees by the stone. "Kathleen? It is me. Ziva." She felt ridiculous, introducing herself to a headstone, but she didn't know what else to say. After a moment, she reached into her bag, pulling out the box that held the rings. "I... I found the box you had hid. It has the rings in it. I... I do not know if you would like them back, or if you want your children to have them, since they rightfully belong to them, and I do not know where they live, so I cannot send them. I... I know your son became a Lance Corporal in the Marines. I know, because I met him. When I was fifteen." She reached up, grasping the medallion. "He gave me this." She licked her lips, nervous.

"I... I have tried to figure out what happened, and I... I think Fiona had something to do with your death but... but I cannot figure out how. I know she forced you to change your will, and leave everything to her. I know that she provided you with medications and prescriptions, and that she won custody of your children for a year before John won them back. I know about your brother, the man, Gibbs. I know everything possible about you, but the one thing I cannot figure out, is your death. I know you fell from the cliffs, but..." She stopped, sighing. She wouldn't get an answer tonight- or ever. After a moment, she set the box at the base of the stone, and got up, laying a hand over the engraving. "I am sorry, that I could not help more. I tried, but it was not enough."

She stood, turning to go.

_"Iva."_ Stopping, she turned, but nothing had changed. The box still sat at the base of Kathleen's grave, undisturbed. A moment passed, before she returned to the stone, taking a seat across from it.

"What more do you want from me, Kathleen? I tried, and I failed. The one thing I can do- whatever it is- I cannot figure out. It does not make sense. All evidence points to you commiting suicide. Even the coroner ruled it a suicide. I am sorry, but if you were killed, I cannot figure how." She yawned, stretching. She needed to get back to the cottage and go to bed. She'd been running around all day, and suddenly felt exhausted. A moment passed, before she lay her bag down, curling up near the stone. "Just a few moments, and then I will go..."

_The scent of rain filled the cottage._ _She made her way down the hall, hearing little feet pad into the room two doors down from the bathroom. Silently, she made her way into the bedroom, pouncing when she found her prey on the bed, a book between them. "Mams!" Her daughter laughed as she tickled her, even as her son pushed the book towards her._

_"Not tonight, my love. 'tis late for a story, but how about I sing a lullaby instead?" Her children clambered towards her, curling into her embrace as she sang a soft lullaby. Her voice got softer as she watched them fall asleep, and after tucking both into their beds and kissing them, she went downstairs. John made his way towards her, headed for the stairs. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. _

_"I love you, Kathleen, you know that?" She gave him a small smile, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands. _

_"I love you, John. Always will." She leaned up, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. When she finally pulled away, he started up the stairs. _

_"Coming, love?" She glanced back at him._

_"Soon." She licked her lips, grabbing her coat and pulling it on. "I just have to do something first. But 'twill be up soon, my love." He nodded, heading upstairs. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched him disappear. "Once I fix this, I will spend the rest of the night in yer arms." Then, she slipped out of the house, shutting the door softly behind her._

_She walked for several minutes, hands buried in her pockets, lost in thought. Her feet led her away from the village, towards the cliffs. She had to make things right. Had to fix what she'd done- true, it had been done at a time when she'd been heavily medicated- but still, she had to fix it. For the sake of her children. "I was beginning to wonder if you had backed out." She looked up, the fog rolled in, tainting the dark world grey. Taking a deep breath, she dug her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat._

_"Hello Fiona." She watched her sister-in-law step out of the fog, wrapped in her own coat against the dewy chill. The older woman's dark hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, so much like her personality, that she felt as though she were back in school. "I dinna come here to talk. I came to let ye know that I have changed my mind. I will not do it, I won't."_

_Fiona raised an eyebrow. "Do what? Sign the will I drew up for you? It has already been signed and filed. Were anything to happen to you, I recieve everything. Not that I want everything, but there are some things of yours I want. Your children, being one of them." She grit her teeth, struggling to keep her temper in check. "And once the judge agrees that you and John are unfit to be parents, I will be awarded custody of your precious babes, and I can do to them what I wish."_

_"Ye lay one hand on my children, and I will kill you." She snapped. Fiona raised both eyebrows. It was an empty threat, she could see it. She had no more fight in her at this point than a caged bear. The older woman chuckled, making her way towards the young mother._

_"Now we both know you won't do a thing. I've got you so medicated, you can't see two feet in front of you." She glanced at her as her sister-in-law spoke, her soft whisper loud enough to wake the dead. Gently, Fiona reached out, brushing her hair back, revealing the locket she wore around her neck. A moment passed, before she lifted the locket from her neck, opening it up to study the images. "Such beautiful children. Unfortunately, none of you will live to old age." She said, snapping the locket shut. "Not if I have my way."_

_"Why? Why are ye doing this, Fiona? My children, John, myself... we have done nothing to ye but love ye for being family. What turned ye so cold and heartless? So evil?" She asked, turning to her sister-in-law. _

_"Evil? Heartless? You don't know half of what I've been through in my life, Kathleen, so don't pretend like you do. All you need to know, is that once I get ahold of those children, their lives will never be the same. They'll be lucky to reach their teenage years." She shook her head._

_"No. I won't. I will not let ye destroy my family! I will not let ye near my children! Yer issues are will me, and me alone, Fiona. Ye stay away from my babes." _

_"Your 'babes." Fiona spit, anger sparking in her eyes. "Your precious babes are the very thing that started all this! Why is it you get to bear a child, while I had to feel my child die? How is that fair?" _

_"Timothy?" She breathed, horrified as realization began to strike. "Ye blame Timothy for being born?"_

_"I blame you for being able to carry him and give birth to him." Fiona replied, dropping the locket. "I blame you for taking my chance at being a mother."_

_"I dinna take it away from ye, Fiona. Ye were the one that could not carry a babe to term. Not me." She replied, not realizing that her soft tone was taken as flaunting. Fiona took a step towards her, reaching back before allowing her palm to connect with cheek. She cried out in shock, reaching up to hold her cheek._

_"I am not the problem. I am not the one who destroyed this family, who ruined it and dragged the McGee name through the mud. That was you, Kathleen, you! You have taken everything from me! Do you understand? Everything! My family, my career, everything!" She stumbled back, catching her balance as Fiona walked her back. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to see how far away from the edge she was, but due to the fog, it was impossible._

_"I took nothing from ye, Fiona! Nothing I did not earn! John gave his heart to me, he gave me Timothy and Sarah!" She cried, pressing a hand to her chest as she spoke. "I earned that prize, I earned everything I ever worked for! If anyone has dragged the McGee name through the mud, it is ye, Fiona, not me!"_

_The older woman saw red, going to her. "I am the oldest! I deserve everything you ever took from me! It's my right! Not yours, Kathleen! Mine!" Fiona reached out, shoving her; she lost her footing, stumbling back. She reached out for Fiona, for some sort of hold, some sort of rescue, but Fiona only shoved her harder, sending her over the edge, down towards the rocks and sea below that would be her deathbed._

_"Fiona!"_

Ziva jerked awake and sat up, Kathleen's scream ringing loud in her ears. She looked around as she struggled to catch her breath; she was still in the cemetery, at Kathleen's grave. It was still dark, as she pulled her phone out of her bag and checked the time.

Two A.M.

She glanced around one last time, her gaze landing on Kathleen's stone. Without a word, she stumbled to her feet, grabbed her bag, and fled the cemetery.


	24. Chapter 24

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Reader for reviewing 20, 21, 22, and 23; earthdragen for reviewing 21; Sazzita, athenakitty, SassyJ and Saissa for reviewing 23.**

She glanced at Siobhan. "What happens now?"

"Kathleen's case will be reopened, investigated. This family will have to go through it all over again, and _'twill_ be ruled a homicide."

Ziva had rushed from the cemetery to Siobhan's house, waking the older woman at three A.M. As Siobhan made tea, Ziva had rambled and ranted and muttered about homicide and Fiona, before the older woman was finally able to sit her down and shove a steaming cup of tea into her hands. Then, she'd sat across from the younger woman, listening as Ziva recanted everything that she'd found out about Fiona and Kathleen.

"Will she be buried-" Siobhan shook her head, cutting her off.

"No. She will remain here, where she's happy. Just _knowing_ that now she can be buried with the rest of the family if we so choose is good enough. But she will stay at Literary Hill, where she belongs. No matter how that prize ruined her, she was still an author, and was proud to be included in that group. She can rest in peace now."

Ziva nodded, stuffing her hands in her pockets as they left the cemetery. Six days had passed since Ziva had learned of Kathleen's murder, since the Dublin Metro Police had been alerted and had sent the information to NCIS.

"So... what will happen now? To Fiona?"

Siobhan sighed. "Well, since the Dublin Metro Police were alerted to the new evidence, they took copies of everything and returned it all to me, saying that _'twas_ more important for the family to have it than the police at this point." Siobhan pulled out a stack of papers and a couple picture frames from her bag. "They are _yers_ now." Ziva shook her head, pushing them back.

"No, I couldn't-" But Siobhan laid them in Ziva's hands.

_"Ye_ helped bring justice for Kathleen. She turned to_ ye_ when she had no one else. _Ye_ are as much a part of this family than if _ye_'d been born of our blood." Siobhan whispered, reaching up and gently cradling the girl's face in her hands. Ziva gave her a soft smile, clutching everything to her chest.

"_Toda_." Siobhan smiled, pulling away.

"Dublin Metro alerted NCIS in the States about Fiona." Ziva furrowed a brow.

"NCIS?" The older woman nodded.

"_Aye_. Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"But-"

"_'twas_ a Navy wife, Kathleen. John is an American, and therefore, she was an American Navy wife._ 'tis_ up to NCIS to track Fiona down, and bring her back to Ireland to stand trial. The Irish courts will deal with her once she returns. We take our cases seriously in Ireland- especially ones ruled suicide that later turn out to be murder." As they returned to Kinvara and parted ways, a black car drove up and parked. As Ziva headed into the cottage, an older man got out, going to Siobhan, who had seen Ziva inside. The younger woman didn't notice the man come up to Siobhan.

"Siobhan. How have you been?"

"Hello, Leroy. Better, now that Kathleen's death has been resolved." She said, wrapping him in a hug. She watched as two younger men got out of the car, her face lighting up at the younger one. She went to him, holding her arms out for him. "Timothy, how are _ye_, my darling?" She took his face in her hands, staring into his green eyes before hugging him. He sighed.

"Was it really Aunt Fiona?" He asked, hugging her tight. "Did she really murder my mother?" Siobhan pulled away, seeing the tears in his eyes. She nodded, sadly.

"Aye, my love. Fiona killed yer mother. Out of pure jealousy and spite. I am so sorry." He nodded, swallowing.

"Can I see her?" He asked. Tony, the older agent, opened his mouth, from several feet behind Tim.

"She's de-" A good slap to the back of the head shut the younger man up. Siobhan chuckled softly and turned back to her nephew.

"If_ ye_ want-" He nodded.

"I want to." Siobhan sighed.

"Very well." And so she joined the three agents in the car, directing them to the cemetery. Once there, she led the three back to Literary Hill. "_'tis yer_ decision if _ye_ wish to bury her with the rest the family. _Yers_ and Sarah's. But until the decision is made, she'll remain here, at Literary Hill."

"'Literary Hill?'" Tony asked, confused.

"Aye. Some of Ireland's most influental writers and poets reside here." Siobhan said, glancing back at Tony.

"And my mother because the church wouldn't allow her to be buried on hallowed ground because of the way everyone thought she died." Tim said, following his aunt. Eventually, they stopped at the stone, Tony and Gibbs hanging back.

"Kathleen, I have a visitor for_ ye_. I've brought _yer_ boy, all the way from America._ Yer_ babe isn't a babe anymore, he's a grown man. A federal agent. And Sarah,_ 'tis_ a teenager. They've both grown fine; John has raised them well. _Ye_ should be proud of _yer_ babes, Kathleen. Very proud." She reached up, laying a hand on her nephew's cheek before gently pushing him forward. "Go on, Timothy. She has been waiting for_ ye_." A moment passed, before he went to the stone, kneeling beside it.

"Hi _Mams_." He whispered, tears in his voice. He reached out, brushing his fingers over the engraving of her name. Tears began to cloud his vision, and he took a deep breath. "I've thought a lot about you. Sarah looks more and more like you every day. I miss you." He sniffled, glancing at the weeping angel. "The last time I was here, I was ten, and it was a day after my birthday. All I wished for that day was for you to come back, but it never came true. And now, I find out that _Aunt Fiona_ killed you, that she shoved you off the cliffs... for_ years_, when I thought it was something I'd done, it wasn't my fault at all." He took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I miss you, _Mams_. So much." He took a deep breath, choking on a sob, resting his forehead against his mother's headstone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita, Saissa, mcgeeksgirl, earthdragen, JonnyP86, Reader, Peglet and TheRoseShadow21 for reviewing 24.**

Sarah arrived in Ireland not long after Timothy, being taken out of class and put on the next flight to Dublin. Timothy met her at the airport, wrapping her in a tight hug, lifting her off her feet. He held her for several minutes, whispering softly to her that something had happened concerning their mother's death, and that it involved someone important to them. She'd arrived just in time to see Fiona be brought in, dragged through the streets of Kinvara in handcuffs. Everyone in the small town had come out to watch the killer of their most beloved author come home to stand trial.

Of course, when the older woman laid eyes on her niece and nephew, she immediately tried playing nice. Reaching for the two young adults, she gave them both a big smile. "Timothy, Sarah, you've both gotten so big! It's been so long since I've seen you-" But he pulled Sarah to his side, holding her close, anger sparking in his green eyes. Since learning how his mother truly died, he wanted nothing to do with her. Sarah curled into his side, burying her face in his chest. The high school senior held tight to her older brother, even as he spoke.

"How could you?"

"How could I what?" Fiona asked, confused. He shook his head, not willing to believe that his aunt would play dumb about something so serious.

_"Kill our mother!"_ Sarah snapped, eyes welling with tears. Fiona stared at her, eyes wide in shock. She scoffed softly.

"I didn't kill Kathleen. She jumped that night-" But neither one cared to hear it. Sarah buried her face in her brother's shirt, refusing to hear anymore of the lies their aunt spun. As they dragged her away, calling for her niece and nephew, they left, returning to Siobhan's. Ziva, standing with others who watched her being taken to the courthouse, caught only a glimpse of her marine as he left, his arms tight around his sister, holding her up when her knees gave out.

Siobhan had explained everything to the siblings, telling them of the young woman who'd discovered the truth of their mother's death, without actually naming the girl. As he led Sarah into the cottage and settled her on the sofa, Timothy headed into the kitchen to help his aunt. They fixed tea in silence before she asked,

"How are_ ye_ doing?" He sighed, leaning against the counter.

"How could she do that? How could she just... kill Mams without a second thought? Without thinking of what it would do to Sarah and I? Or Da? How could she-"

"Fiona has always been jealous, Timothy._ 'tis_ the oldest, and so, she has always believed that everything should go to her, that _'tis_ her right."

"But I'm the oldest, Aunt Siobhan, and I've never thought that way." He replied, turning to her. She reached up, taking his face in her hands.

"And_ ye_ have _yer_ mother to thank for that. _'tis_ Kathleen in _ye_. Even at her worst, she made sure_ ye_ and Sarah had a mother. That _ye_ were loved." Gently, she brushed her thumbs against the apples of his cheeks. "No matter the writing, the prize, _ye_ and Sarah were her first priority. She loved ye. Always. Till the day she died, and now, she loved _ye._ Never forget that." He nodded, wrapping Siobhan in a hug before taking the tray into the living room, where Sarah sat sobbing.

She watched her nephew, saw him wrap Sarah in a hug, before grabbing her cup and taking a sip. As she followed, the phone rang, forcing her to double back. Sipping her tea, she picked it up, cradling it between her neck and shoulder. "Hello?"

"Hello Siobhan."

A moment passed, as she struggled to place the voice with the face. Once she realized who it was, she let a smile tug at her lips, and silently sipped her tea. As she went to the doorway, watching her niece and nephew, she heard,

"Well? How did it go?"

She turned from the sight before her, going back into the kitchen where their conversation wouldn't be overheard. As she leaned against the counter and stared out the window, she asked,

"How did _ye_ know? How did_ ye_ know that she would come? That she_ 'twould_ be willing to find the answers we needed? It could have been anyone else. Or she could have given up and decided not to, and returned home. How did _ye_ know she would stick to it?"

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled softly. He thought back to his time in Ireland, when he'd stayed with Siobhan that semester he studied in Dublin. He'd gotten to be good friends with the older woman, even listening as she retold the heartbreaking tale of her sister-in-law's suicide. But even then, something had told him that Kathleen hadn't committed suicide, but he hadn't been able to look into it, with school. So when he returned, he gave Siobhan Ziva's name and told her to watch out for his little sister. And sure enough, four years later, Ziva had found the things that had been buried in the olive groves not long after his return, and it had sent her on a journey to help solve a decades-old murder mystery.

He also knew his sister. He knew what she liked, where she'd always wanted to go, and one of the places she'd always wanted to see was Ireland. So giving her this chance to solve the mystery of Kathleen McGee's death was giving her a chance to see Ireland. A moment passed, as he thought, before replying,

"Because I know my sister, Siobhan. And Zivaleh, she loves a good mystery."


	26. Chapter 26

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita, Saissa, Peglet, earthdragen, TheRoseShadow21, Reader and Crawcolady for reviewing 25.**

She pulled on her coat, reaching up to grasp the medallion, and did one final sweep of the room, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. It was her final day in Ireland, and she didn't want to leave anything behind, especially since she wouldn't be back. She hated to leave; she loved Ireland, but she had to return to Israel. If she didn't return, her father would drag her back by her hair and never let her leave.

Satisfied that she'd left nothing behind, she slung her bag over her shoulder and followed Siobhan from the room, checking out in the lobby. The older woman had agreed to drive her to the Dublin airport, for which Ziva was grateful. But first, they made one last stop; first to the cemetery, and finally to the cliffs. Siobhan waited patiently, watching as Ziva carried a small bouquet of Statice which she laid near the edge of the cliffs in remembrance. She knelt down, digging into her bag and pulling out the locket, which she laid over the stems of the flowers.

"I am sorry, Kathleen. I am sorry you did not get to watch your children grow up. I know what it is like to grow up without a mother. I know what they have gone through. And I am so, so sorry."

_"Iva."_

She looked up, glancing back at Siobhan, but the older woman was on the phone with one of the other volunteers at the castle, explaining what needed to be done to clean up and get ready to open in April. When she turned back, she jumped slightly as she stood, gasping softly.

Kathleen stood before her, her long dark hair blowing in the wind, green eyes watching silently. Her coat blew back behind her, and as the fog began to roll in, Ziva stood, watching in silent fear as the young woman leaned down. Silent, Ziva watched as the spirit lifted the locket. It opened, and she stared at the images of her husband and children, a flash of sadness appearing to come over her. Her gaze then moved to the younger woman, before going back to the faces in the locket. She reached up, ghosting her fingers over the faces of her children and husband. Ziva saw what she thought were tears slipping down her cheeks, and she mouthed softly to the images.

_"My babes. I love you."_

Ziva swallowed, stepping back, but Kathleen's gaze was on her again, and she stopped. Several minutes passed in tense silence, before she held the locket out. Confusion knit Ziva's brow, and she opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say. The locket dangled from the chain, and after a moment, she held out her hand, assuming that was what Kathleen wanted. Without a word, she dropped the locket into Ziva's palm; it snapped shut, heavy in her grasp. Ziva looked up at her, shaking her head.

"No. No, this is yours. I cannot... it does not belong to me." She looked up at her. "It belongs to you." But instead of replying, Kathleen stepped back, silent. "Do you want me to give it to your son? Or... or your daughter?" Without a word, Kathleen turned, disappearing into the mist. Ziva watched her go, the locket still held within her grasp. Taking a deep breath, she returned to Siobhan, who cocked her head at the confused look on her face.

"_Ye_ all right?" She nodded.

"Yes. I... I am okay." Siobhan nodded, but didn't reply. As they got in the car and left the cliffs, Ziva tightened her grasp on the locket, turning to stare out the window. Silent, she watched the beautiful green landscape pass by, becoming a blur that quickly replaced itself with images of her marine, of a young woman with long dark hair, and the cliffs where she met her fatal end. She sighed, resting her head against the cool glass, closing her eyes. She'd gotten the first full night's sleep she'd had since coming to Ireland the night before, but had awoken at four with images of her marine in her head. She'd been so close, and yet-

Her eyes snapped open as Siobhan pulled into the parking garage. Sighing, she got out, shaking her head of the thoughts racing through them. With a soft smile, she followed Siobhan into the airport and checked in before following the older woman to the loading area. As they walked to the loading area, Ziva whispered,

"Thank you." Siobhan turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "For putting up with me." The older woman chuckled softly, reaching out and patting her arm once they'd settled. She gave Ziva a small smile, squeezing her arm.

"_'tis_ no problem. I enjoyed getting to know_ ye_." Once her plane arrived and they began loading, Siobhan stood, helping Ziva to her feet. She wrapped the younger woman in a warm hug that was strongly returned. "Thank _ye_ so much, Ziva. For finding the truth."

"It was not a problem. Thank you for believing me." Siobhan reached up, taking her face in her hands.

"Kathleen_ 'tis_ family. And despite Fiona, we all loved her, and mourned when she passed. John _'tis_ my baby brother, and he loved Kathleen dearly; still loves her_ 't_ this day. Kathleen did what she did_ 't_ protect her children. She did what she thought _'twas_ best." Ziva nodded.

"I know. I just... I feel sorry for her children." Siobhan nodded in agreement, removing her hands and laying them on her shoulders.

"But Timothy and Sarah are doing well. They've grown into fine adults. Sarah graduates secondary soon, and Timothy _'tis_ a federal agent at NCIS." Ziva raised her eyebrows, even as Siobhan pushed her forward.

"NCIS?" She asked, turning back, causing other passengers to go around her to enter the terminal. Siobhan nodded.

"_Aye_, Kathleen's oldest babe _'tis_ a federal agent, under Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gribbs."

Ziva's eyes widened. "His... his..." Siobhan nodded, smiling.

"_Aye_, under his uncle."


	27. Chapter 27

**Rifiuto: No****n Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita and Reader for reviewing 26. **

_October, 2003_

_Washington, D.C._

She took a deep breath as the cab pulled up to the Navy Yard. After returning to Israel, Mossad had sent her on a four month mission in Spain. As she'd unpacked from that trip, she'd found the small box Kathleen had hidden, residing in her bag, rings and all. She'd sworn she left it at the cemetery, but obviously, Kathleen had had other plans. She had just returned from a six month mission to the U.K., and had taken the opportunity to come to America, in search of her marine, even though two years had passed. She'd never forgotten Kathleen or her mysterious death, or her marine, and now planned on finding her marine and telling him who she was.

She currently stood in front of the headquarters for the Navy Criminal Investigative Service, trying to muster her strength to go in and find her marine. She adjusted her bag over her shoulder, it was heavy with everything she'd gathered on her trip to Ireland. A moment passed, before she took a deep breath and headed in. Once she'd checked in, recieved her visitor's pass and had her bag looked through, she was directed to the fourth floor, where the NCIS teams were. As she rode the elevator alone, she reached up, grasping the medallion around her neck.

How would she know if it was him? Would he still look the same as the image in her head? Or would he be older? Would he remember her? Or would he look at her and wonder who the strange woman wearing his medallion was?

She glanced down at the medallion as the elevator came to a stop at the fourth floor. She didn't dare consider that he'd given it to her for any other reason than because he was being nice.

_"A McGee never gives his medallion away unless the person they give it to means something to them."_

But she hadn't meant anything to him. She'd just been a young girl that he was being nice to, nothing more.

_"Iva."_

Her head snapped up. It had been two years since she'd heard Kathleen calling out to her, two years since she'd been to Ireland- because of her assignment, she hadn't been able to stop by Kinvara and visit Siobhan, even though the two kept in constant touch through e-mails and phone calls. A thought suddenly crossed her mind.

Did he give it to her that long ago day because he... because he_ loved_ her?

Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the fourth floor, looking around quickly before heading towards the bullpen closest to the stairs. She didn't notice as the senior field agent sat up, suddenly interested in her. She quickly glanced around, before murmuring,

"I am looking for- "

"Special Agent Gibbs?" The man asked, giving her a bright smile. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. A moment passed, before she spoke.

"No, actually. I am here to see Special Agent McGee." He raised his eyebrows, chuckling in amusement, as though he couldn't believe what she'd said.

"Ah... how do you I'm not McGee?" She reached up, grasping the medallion around her neck. The image of her marine flashed in her mind, and she shook her head, silent. She bit her lip, never releasing her medallion.

"You are not... Special Agent McGee." She replied slowly, sensing a presence coming towards her. Her head snapped to the side, to see a young man enter from other way, a cup of coffee in his hands. He wore a trench-type coat and glanced at her as he took a seat at his desk. Taking a deep breath, she strode towards him. Her heart began to pound within her chest so hard, it felt as though a rib was breaking with each beat.

She knew.

She just _knew_ that this was him. That this was her marine. The man she'd been searching for for years. The man who's mother had been murdered. Who's murder she'd solved. The man who'd given her his medallion years ago.

Silent, she stopped in front of his desk, just drinking him in. He was older, which surprised her, but yet, so was she. His hair was still the same sandy shade it had been when they'd met, and he was as well-built as he had been all those years ago, in that cafe. She could see the chain of a necklace beneath his shirt, and she longed to tug on it and see what hung, even though she knew what it was.

Her Star of David.

A moment passed, before she cleared her throat softly. He looked up, surprised to find her standing by his desk. Her heart quickened its pace- yes, this was him. This was her marine.

His eyes were still the same shade of green they'd been that hot day in Tel Aviv; they were the eyes she'd dreamed about, she'd thought of, for years.

Yes, this was him.

"Can I help you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at his partner, wondering if this was some twisted joke Tony had decided to play on him. But Tony sat, mouth open in shock, just like he was. A moment of tense silence passed, before she spoke, her voice a soft whisper.

"Are you... Special Agent McGee?" Slowly, he nodded, unsure of how to respond. She swallowed before continuing. "I... I am Ziva David. We... we met when you were stationed in Israel, back in ninety-seven. We shared a table, and you gave me this." She removed her hand from around the medallion at her neck. He stared at it, his green gaze going first from the medallion to her face and back again. She waited, pleading silently with him to say something. After several tense moments, he shook his head.

"I... I'm sorry, but... I don't remember you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Rifiuto: No****n Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita, earthdragon, athenakitty, Saissa, mcgeeksgirl, Peglet, puppypants and Reader for reviewing 27. **

Her heart plummeted into her chest. She couldn't _possibly_ have heard correctly. He... he _didn't remember her_?

How could he not_ remember_ her? She remembered him. As clearly as though their meeting were yesterday. She'd thought of him every single day, from the moment he left, until this moment, standing before his desk. Tears began to prick her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. How the hell could he _not_ remember?

She took a deep breath, struggling to control her tears. "I... I... we... we met in Tel Aviv. You were an America Marine, stationed there, and I... we shared a table at a coffeeshop and talked about literature..." She swallowed. "Remember?" He studied her.

"I... I remember being in Israel, but... I don't remember you. I'm sorry." Her heart broke, and she took a deep breath. A moment passed, before she reached into her bag, pulling out the small drawstring pouch Ari had given her from it. It was the same pouch she'd taken to Ireland, with all the little trinkets she'd collected over her journey those three years ago. Slowly, carefully, she removed each one from the bag, setting them atop his desk.

St. Brigid's Cross; the Claddagh ring; the witch ball. Then, she reached into her bag and pulled out _Ringed With the Stones_, laying it on the desk, followed by the photograph of him and Sarah on the beach below the cliffs. He picked it up, studying it silently. A moment passed before he looked up at her, accusations in his green eyes.

"What are you doing here? How did you get this?"

"McGee!" The pair turned to Gibbs, who had entered the bullpen, catching sight of Ziva. He nodded upstairs, to one of the conference rooms, and the two went. Once up there, with the door shut firmly behind them, he turned to Ziva, who had laid everything out on the conference table. He glanced at it, before turning back, watching as she lifted out the last portrait of Kathleen and her children, taken a week before her murder. Slowly, he reached out, picking up the manuscript pages.

"She was... working on a new novel when she died. These are the few pages I found." He slowly scanned the pages, recognizing his mother's familiar writing. Tears began to mist his green-eyed gaze, and he glanced at her. "And this... your Aunt Siobhan gave me this." She said, pushing the photograph of him and Sarah forward. "And this..." She slid Kathleen's real will towards him. "It's her original will, sighed and dated two years before she died. Leaving everything to you and your sister and father. She hid it, much like she hid everything else, to protect you."

She took a seat beside him, pushing the small box towards him. "What's this?" He asked, confused.

"It is a box that your uncle made for your parents, to keep their wedding rings in so they could renew their vows. But before she died, Kathleen put her rings in it and hid it in her desk, wrapped in the pages of her manuscript, to protect it so she could give the rings to you and Sarah later. But she never got to. She died before she could."

His gaze landed on the locket, and he grabbed it, opening it up. Tears came to his eyes as he recognized his father and sister and himself, as he closed it and turned it over, reading the inscription on the back. She watched him, as tears began to slip down his cheeks, and his eyes moved to the photograph of her and her children, the last portrait taken of Kathleen. Gently, he reached out, brushing his fingers over her features; features he saw in Sarah every day, features he saw in himself when he looked in the mirror.

_"Máthair."_ Slowly, his gaze moved up to meet hers, and he took a deep breath. "How did you get this?" She bit her lip. "Where did you find this?" She swallowed.

"In... in your parents' home." She whispered. "In Kinvara." He started, surprised. Here was this strange girl, giving him trinkets and photographs and objects that had belonged to his mother; to the woman who's death had finally been ruled a murder and who's sister-in-law had been responsible for forcing her children to raise themselves without her there.

"My... my parents' home? You... you went into my parents' house in Kinvara?" He snapped, getting up. She stepped back.

"I only went because your Aunt Siobhan said I could. And Kathleen, she wanted me to look for something for you! And I found it! I found the will and the rings-"

"Look, I don't know_ who_ you are, or _why_ you have my mother's things, but I would appreciate it if you would kindly leave them here and then leave!" She stared at him, surprised by his reaction. She hadn't expected this.

"You... you do not remember me?" She asked. He scoffed, amazed that that was what she focused on.

_"No! I don't_! I'm sorry, but since the ambush, everything from my time in Israel is pretty much a blank-"

"Ambush? What ambush?" She asked, stepped closer. He sighed, leaning against the back of his chair. He really didn't want to go down that road again; he'd finally gotten past the nightmares and pain, only to have this strange girl bringing it all back up. He shook his head.

"There was an ambush; my base was attacked, and I was hurt during the fighting... _That doesn't matter!_ What matters is _you_... you broke into my childhood home and _you_-"

"You gave me this." She cut him off, reaching up and quickly removing the medallion from around her neck. She held it out to him; he turned to it, surprised.

"Where did you get that?" He asked, his eyes landing on the medallion within her grasp. She took a deep breath, tears in her eyes.

"You gave it to me. Six years ago. In a coffeeshop in Tel Aviv, Israel."


	29. Chapter 29

**Rifiuto: No****n Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita, Saissa, mcgeeksgirl, Peglet, Reader and athenakitty for reviewing 28.**

He took the medallion, gaze never leaving the saint. "And I gave you," She said, slowly reaching out to take the chain he wore beneath his shirt. "my Star of David-"

But when she pulled the chain out, she found only a simple Celtic Cross.

Her eyes welled with tears, and she looked up at him. He reached down, gently removing her hand. "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you like that, but my family has been through enough stress as it_ is_, with my aunt on trial for my mother's murder, and now we have to go through watching my Aunt Fiona be put to death- fifteen years too late. So my family and I have to relive the_ hell_ of my mother's death all over again, in two days when we go back to Ireland, all thanks to some little girl who just couldn't leave well enough alone."

Tears glistened in his green gaze, and he took a deep breath, glancing down at Kathleen's portrait, struggling to remain calm. It hadn't bothered him; he'd been more concerned about Sarah, and how upset she'd been when they found out that Fiona would be put to death for murder. The fact that it would be happening on her twentieth _birthday_, only made it harder for Tim, Sarah and the rest of the Kathleen's remaining family. Gently, he reached down, brushing his fingers over his mother's face. He glanced up at her. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?"

She shook her head. "I... I didn't." Slowly, he nodded, watching her for a moment before moving away from the chair and heading for the door. She rushed after, blocking his path. "You cannot go yet." He sighed, glancing down at the medallion in his hand.

"I need you to understand, it's been a stressful week, and I have a flight to catch in two days for Dublin, and all I really want to do is go home, crawl into bed, and forget this nightmare ever happened. "So please-"

"Where is it?" He furrowed his brow.

"Where is what?"

"Your necklace. The Star of David necklace I gave you. Where is it?" A moment passed in silence, before he gently moved her aside and headed back to his desk. Pulling his drawer open, he lifted something out-

Her Star of David.

Dangling from the gold chain, as beautiful as it had been the day she'd recieved it. She glanced at him, and he settled it in his palm, glancing at it. It was a very beautiful necklace.

_"Wait!" She dropped it into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He glanced at her, even as she pressed a kiss to his cheek._

_"What is this for?"_

_"For keeping me company." His commanding officer pulled him back onto the jeep and they took off; she rushed after it, never letting her gaze drift from his. _

_"What's your name?"_

_"Iva!"_

He looked up at her, studying her closely for a moment. Even as he studied her, the girl he'd met years ago flashed before his mind. Those dark eyes, that smile, those dimples. In a space that was majorly a blank, she was the only thing that he really remembered. Those dark eyes and that smile. For years, he'd been trying to remember little pieces of his past that had been wiped with the ambush, and while Israel was gone, the sight of those dark eyes wasn't. It was the only thing that reminded him that he'd survived; that had kept him from sinking into the depression that had first strangled him after the ambush. At first, he'd worn it all the time, but over the years, he'd realized that he hadn't needed it as much, and so kept it in his desk at work. When things got really stressful, he'd take out the Star and hold it, and think of the girl who'd given it to him. Of who she was, and where she'd ended up. If she'd been okay, if she'd gotten married and had children or never gotten married at all.

As the dark eyes he'd clung to for years faded into the abyss, they were replaced with the eyes before him.

Dark, deep, soul-searching.

She gave him a quick smile, nervous under his intense green gaze.

That smile, those dimples. It couldn't be...

He struggled to think of something to say, memories of his mother and this girl clashing in his head; memories of everything he and his family had gone through in the last few years coming back to strangle him. A moment passed, before the woman before him stepped close, rising up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I am sorry, for causing you this pain."

She turned to go, reaching for the door when he grabbed her hand. His grip tightened on her wrist, but she didn't react; she didn't want to. If he didn't remember her, then she needed to accept that he'd forgotten her long ago and-

"I..._ Iva_?" He stammered softly. She turned back, eyes wide in shock as her mouth dropped and she met his gaze. She stared into his eyes, not wanting to believe that the man staring at her was the marine who'd left her behind. Ziva quickly her lips, keeping quiet. He watched her, struggling to remember the details, and after a moment, he whispered, "I was... in Israel... on... on deployment and..." He sighed, frustrated. "and I was at this... cafe and... and this girl... she came over and she told me in no uncertain terms that I was to move because... because it was her table." He shook his head; Ziva glanced at her hands, afraid of what emotions would flash within her eyes. Finally, she lifted her gaze, and in a soft whisper, said,

"Go on. Please."


	30. Chapter 30

**Rifiuto: No****n Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita, Saissa, puppypants, taijah321, TheRoseShadow21, Misty, Reader, earthdragon, mcgeeksgirl, and GibbsTonyZivaTim for reviewing 29.**

She waited, holding her breath, wanting him to continue. He thought a moment, before shaking his head. "Never mind. It was a long time ago, and... it doesn't matter anymore." He met her gaze. "_Go raibh maith agat_. Thank you, for returning my mother's things." She nodded, tears in her eyes. Slowly, he turned, heading back to the conference room to collect his mother's belongings. She watched him go, burying her hands in her pockets. Her brow furrowed as her fingers wrapped around something in her pocket, and slowly, she pulled her hand out-

"_Máthair'_s locket." Everyone looked up as he came out, green eyes frantic. "Where is _Máthair_'s locket? It was on the table with the rest of her things, but now it's-" He stopped, watching as Ziva slowly pulled the jewelry out of her pocket. She looked up at him, Siobhan's words from years ago ringing loud in her head.

_Kathleen designated ye to be the bearer of her secrets._

Taking a deep breath, she looked up, meeting his gaze. "Your mother gave it to me. I figured out the mystery behind her death; she designated that I be the bearer of her secrets." She whispered, using Siobhan's own words. Tim stared at her, confused. She sniffled. "I know you do not remember, that you do not remember me. I know that Israel is blank to you, but I was there that day. I gave you that necklace, and you gave me your medallion in return. I was the girl." She whispered, tears choking her vocal chords. She couldn't help it. "I was the girl that you sat with at that table, and I was the girl who kissed you, who tried to follow your jeep, and _I_ was the girl who solved your mother's murder." She choked on a sob, angry tears welling in her eyes. Anger at herself for letting this emotion get to her, anger at him for not remembering, for not being immediately grateful, anger over this whole situation.

"I-" But she held up a hand, going to his desk and laying the locket atop, tears on her cheeks. "I am sorry, that you_ do not_ remember me. But _I remember you_. From the moment we met, I have remembered you. You are the only thing that kept me sane, in my line of work." And without another word, she turned and headed for the elevator, wanting to get as far away as possible before she broke down. _Before you either break down or punch something._

She waited patiently at the elevator, stepping within the box as the doors opened. As the doors began to close, she lost control, taking her anger out on the metal around her, not caring who heard, not carrying about anything but the fact that her father was right. She'd let her emotions get in the way, and now, was paying for it with a broken heart-

The elevator doors opened, and she looked up from collapsing on the floor to see her marine stepping into the box. "What do you want?" She asked, bitter anger lacing every syllable. He sighed as the doors closed behind him, and then hit the emergency button, stopping the elevator before taking a seat beside her on the floor. She swallowed, turning way. Silence filled the dark car before he swallowed the thickness in his throat and spoke.

"I'm sorry. For the way I reacted, to everything. It's just..." He sighed, as she turned to meet his gaze. "It's been so hard to go through all this again... it's like watching the police bring her body back up to the cliffs all over again. And that the text I got from Aunt Siobhan, saying that the judge threw out the death sentence and gave her life in prison, because he deemed her a danger... if I had the willpower, I'd shove her off the cliffs myself and watch as she fell, so she would know the torture she put my mother through."

"You do not have the evil in you to do something as heartless as that." She whispered, watching him. He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing. A moment passed, before he pulled the photograph out from beneath his jacket.

"All this time, I thought she had _willingly_ abandoned us, willingly thrown herself off that cliff because she didn't want to raise us anymore. For fifteen years, I thought she'd gladly left Sarah and I behind with_ Da_, because she didn't want to be our mother anymore. Because she didn't care. Only to find out that she was murdered by our aunt. By one of the people she loved- sure, she and Aunt Fiona didn't get along, but she loved her, nonetheless." Tears filled his eyes, and after a moment, Ziva reached out, laying a hand on his arm.

"I am sorry." He glanced at her, giving her a small smile, taking a deep breath. After a moment, he pulled the locket from inside his jacket, and turned it over, reading the inscription on the back.

"'Love now and forever.'"He whispered, brushing a thumb over the words. Slowly, he met her gaze, reaching out and laying a hand over hers. "Thank you, Iva. For helping my mother finally rest in peace." He squeezed her hand, and then stood to turn the switch off, but she grabbed his hand, stopping him. He turned back to her.

"Wait!" He searched her gaze for a moment, something passing in his green eyes as he stared at her, waiting for her to speak. She opened her mouth, but everything she thought of died on her lips. He shook his head, confusion knitting his brow, before he moved to pull away again, and again, she grabbed his hand, pulling him back._ "Wait!"_

When he turned back this time, she leaned close and pressed her lips to his.


	31. Chapter 31

**Rifiuto: No****n Miriena**

**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Hannukkuh to those who celebrate their respective holidays. **

**Thanks to Sazzita, puppypants, and Reader for reviewing 30. **

She had dreamt of this kiss for years. Every night, she'd close her eyes and bury her face in her pillow, allowing her dreams to take her to a life away from the one her father had carved out for her. Away from the death awaiting her.

A moment passed, as he moved to pull away, to break the kiss, not sure why she was kissing him or why he was letting her, but she wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. She drank him in, eventually feeling his arms slide around her waist and pull her close. She slowly reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair. She tasted every nook and cranny of his mouth, drinking him in as she pressed herself closer. As her soft, pliable curves melded towards his hard, firm planes, she felt her heart begin to beat in time to his, as though they'd both been out of sync for years, only to find their mates, and finally find that rhythm they'd both been longing for.

Images, memories he'd long since forgotten, raced within his head, lighting the last few years with a color he hadn't known they possessed. Fleeing images, that had previously been blank, translucent flashes of bleakness. Images from years ago, his months in Israel that had been nothing but vague memories returned, as the woman in his arms brought back the image of that young girl.

Finally, he broke the kiss, pulling away. Taking a deep breath, he nudged his nose against hers, and slowly opened his eyes, letting his gaze settle on the girl in his arms. Ziva, for her part, had to force herself not to jump him in the elevator of his workplace. Instead, she lifted her gaze, meeting his, watching as the green orbs sparked with something she had never seen before.

Slowly, Tim watched as the image of the girl in his head began to morph with the woman held tight in his arms. Those beautiful high-cheekbones, that smile, the slight upturn of her nose, but while the rest of the image changed, what stayed the same were those beautiful dark eyes. The fifteen-year-old girl he'd met that long ago day in the cafe in Tel Aviv, Israel, had grown into a beautiful young woman.

What did he say? How did he react to the fact that she had just kissed him? He didn't know anything about this girl, and yet, he'd felt connected to her his entire adult life. "I-"

She waited, holding her breath. Something told her that he remembered her, that he now knew who she was, and what she'd done for him, for his family, for his mother. She watched him, watched him struggle over his words, before he choked out,

"I'm sorry. I... I don't know your name. It... I keep thinking its' Iva, but..."

She blushed, glancing down at her hands, taking a deep breath. "Ziva, actually." She glanced up at him. "My name is Ziva." He raised an eyebrow.

"Ziva?" She nodded, smiling softly.

"Yes. I am Ziva." He nodded, as she held out a hand. "It is nice to meet you, Timothy." He started, squeezing her hand tightly for a moment as his eyes widened.

"How... how did you-" He stopped, everything Siobhan had told him connected in his head. The girl that had solved his mother's murder and helped catch Fiona, the girl who had set his mother's soul free-

This was that girl.

"You're the girl." Ziva sat back, unsure of what to say. "You're the girl who solved my mother's murder. Who... who figured out that my mother hadn't committed suicide, but that my aunt had killed her. It was _you_."

Ziva bit her lip, and nodded. "Yes. It... it was me." She whispered, not wanting to believe that he had truly remembered, for fear he would tell her this was all a joke and he didn't remember, breaking her heart in the process. "I am so sorry about your mother, but I am glad that I could help. I needed to find you."

"Why?" He asked, confusion lighting his green eyes as he listened. She took his hand in both of hers, taking a deep breath. This would perhaps be the hardest thing she ever said to anyone. And yet, she felt so safe, so comforted, so... secure with him, that she couldn't imagine not telling him. She was taking a risk, a risk no one in her profession ever took. She was a trained killer, and yet, this whole journey had exposed to her another side of herself- a side she'd long been forced to repress.

A side that had been young, and innocent, and believed in true love, long before her father's evil touch tainted her life. Back when her little sister was still alive, and Ari was a good boy, studying medicine in England, and when a young, green-eyed American marine refused to give up the table he was sitting at because she said it was hers. Back when her love of literature was able to carry her away to places she thought she would never see, and the small medallion around her neck tainted her dreams with romance and adventure.

She'd thought that side long gone, but going to Ireland, discovering the mystery of Kathleen's death, the tragedy behind her family's fracturing, had given that back to her. It'd given her back her innocence; and as she'd raced around Kinvara, from the Cliffs to the the cottage to Literary Hill, she'd discovered the part of herself she'd thought lost. She'd rediscovered her belief in love.

And now, here she was, two years later, in Washington D.C., risking a broken heart, for a man who didn't remember her and probably didn't love her back. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she whispered,

"Because I love you."


	32. Chapter 32

******Rifiuto: Non Mirena**

******A/N: So sorry about this! I just finished with our eight performances of The Nutcracker, and I've been catching up on my sleep, as well as everyone else in the cast. But I'm back, and ready to get down to finishing this story. **

**Thanks to Sazzita, JonnyP86, GibbsTonyZivaTim, Misty, mcgeeksgirl, Reader and Guest for reviewing 31.**

He stared at her, surprise in his green eyes.

She... she _loved_ him? He didn't even _know_ this girl, and yet, she was professing her love for him! And she was so ernest, so innocent, with such wide-eyed hope in those dark depths, he couldn't help but feel something for this girl, though it certainly wasn't love.

No, he needed to get to know someone before he fell in love with them, and _definately_ before he _professed_ he loved them.

A moment passed, as he opened his mouth to say something, struggling to think of something to say, anything. Eventually he closed his mouth, sighing and shaking his head. "I... Look, that's... that's very sweet and a little creepy," He stopped, realizing that he would have to have a very serious talk with his Aunt Siobhan about revealing personal stories to strangers. "but... but we don't know anything about each other. Or, at least, I don't know anything about you." He watched her deflate slightly, tears misting her gaze. "But I want to get to know you. Go out for coffee, or dinner, maybe. Get to know each other first. You know, before we go professing love to each other."

"Oh. I... I just thought you... I thought you felt the same way." Ziva struggled to keep her emotions in check, but it was hard, with him pulling away from her, short of fleeing, but still. He hadn't said it back; he'd stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Because I... I have loved you from the moment you gave me your medallion. I cannot... imagine loving anyone else for the rest of my life... but you..." She sniffled, tears beginning to mist her eyes. She'd come so far, only to find her marine, confess her feelings, and be rejected all within a single moment.

"Look, I... I'm not saying that we _can't_ fall in love... I'm just saying that... that we need... we need to get to know each other first." She gave him a small smile, but her eyes still held the pain of his rejection. "I... I'm sure you're a great girl, but... don't you think we should get to know each other before we start saying 'I love you'?" He reached down, taking her hand gently in his. "You know everything about me, but... but I know nothing about you except your name."

A moment passed in silence before she reluctantly nodded. "Yes, I... I guess that would be... the right thing to do." She sniffled, squeezing his hand with a watery smile. "What would you like to know?" He shrugged, unsure of where to start. A moment passed, before his cell began to ring, and he grabbed it.

"McGee-"

_"If you're going to use my office as a personal makeout space, then take the rest of the day off! Take the girl and get outta here!"_ Without another word, Gibbs hung up, leaving Tim staring at the phone in shock. Short of being a headslap from his mother's ghost, his boss's phone call was a close second.

_How the hell did he know? Wait, stupid question. It's Gibbs._ A moment passed, as he slipped his phone back in his pocket and then glanced at Ziva. Taking a deep breath, he put the elevator back into motion and waited as it opened. Ziva stayed in the elevator, anxiously watching as he got out. After a moment, she followed, stopping at the entrance of the bullpen. Silently, Tim grabbed his things and then turned to glance at her before going to his boss, who just nodded towards the girl with a,

"Get goin', McGee."

After a moment of hesitation, Tim did as told, glancing at Tony before joining Ziva. She followed him back to the elevator, silent. As they stepped inside and rode down to the parking garage, she said, "He is your uncle." Tim turned to her, confused.

"Who?" Ziva met his gaze, licking her lips.

"Your boss... He is your uncle. Technically, he is your mother's cousin; but when his mother died, your grandmother adopted him and raised him as your mother's brother... or... something like that. I am not entirely sure, but... I... I believe that is right." He raised an eyebrow, not entirely believing her. As they exited the elevator and headed towards his car, he said,

"No, Gibbs is my boss. I would know if he were part of my family-" Ziva turned to him.

"He is a carpenter, correct?" Slowly, Tim nodded. "Siobhan... Siobhan told me that he... that he made the furniture in your parents' cottage for them, as a gift for their anniversary." Tim bit his lip as he unlocked the car and climbed into the driver's seat. She settled into the passenger seat, turning to him, waiting. He shook his head, sighing.

"Look, I... I don't remember much about growing up in Ireland. I was a kid... I sort of remember the cottage, but not really. All I really remember about Ireland revolves around my mother's death, and I've..." He took a deep breath, turning to her. "I've tried to forget, because it hurts too much, to remember..." She reached over, gently brushing away a tear that slid down his cheek. He met her gaze, and she gave him a soft smile, resting her fingers against his cheek. A moment passed, before he turned his head, and Tim didn't know what possessed him, but he pressed a kiss to the soft flesh of her palm, watching her with jaded green eyes.

Something tugged her forward, and she leaned close, closing the gap between them and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. When she pulled away and searched his gaze, she found only confusion and pain- over the whole situation, most likely. So instead of speaking, she closed the gap once again, and kissed him deeper.


	33. Chapter 33

******Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

******Thanks to JonnyP86, puppypants, Reader, mcgeeksgirl and Sazzita for reviewing 32. **

He pulled away, shaking his head. She watched him, confused. But instead of saying anything, he started the car, and pulled out of the garage. They drove for several minutes in silence, leaving the Navy Yard and heading into a small part of D.C., that Ziva had never seen before. Eventually, they parked and he got out. She rushed to catch up to him. He led her into a small café, the smell of coffee assaulting her nose like an old friend. As he went up to the barista, Ziva followed, taking everything in.

There was an old stone fireplace in the other corner of the café, with a sofa and a couple chairs around it. There were photographs of green landscapes, and it was only when she heard the soft Celtic music in the background that she realized why the store was basically decked out in green. Eventually, she joined him at the counter, simultaneously nervous and excited as to the reason why they were there. "Hi. Welcome to 'A Slice of Ireland.' First time here?" Ziva nodded, taking in the barista's friendly smile. She returned a small smile of her own, before turning to her marine. But before she could say anything, he handed her a cup and led her over to the sofa by the fireplace.

"What do you want to know?" She asked softly. He sighed, shaking his head.

"Start at the beginning." She took a sip of her coffee, making a face before the taste settled on her tongue. He laughed softly. "Most people don't react that strongly to Irish Cream." She blushed, happiness tugging at her heart that she could make him laugh, even if he didn't really remember her.

"When we met?"

"No. The true beginning. When you were born, where you were born- thing like that." She nodded, understanding. A moment passed, before she took a deep breath and wrapped her hands around the cup, staring into the flames that danced before her, the soft Celtic music pulling her back towards the beautiful cliffs she'd walked for days while she was there. She shook her head, turning to find him watching her, waiting. She licked her lips, glancing at her hands before speaking.

"I was... I was born in Be'er Sheva, Israel. My_ Abba_- my father-" She clarified. He nodded. "is the Deputy Director of Mossad. It is the-"

"I know what Mossad is." He replied softly. She nodded, taking a deep breath.

"I have an older half-brother, Ari, and I had a younger sister, Tali." She sniffled, struggling to keep from breaking down. Even all these years later, the mere thought of Tali's death brought tears to her eyes and pain to her heart. "Tali was killed in a Hamas suicide bombing. She was sixteen and the best of us. Tali had compassion."

He reached out, taking her hand. "I'm sorry." She gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand in return.

"I am a Mossad officer." She licked her lips, afraid of what he would think of her. He gave her a small smile, urging her silently to go on. "I... I know that... that you probably do not remember this, but... but I was fifteen when we met, in Tel Aviv. I found you fascinating; I had seen American marines before, but... but I had never met one with eyes like yours." He blushed, glancing down at their hands before pulling away and tracing the rim of his cup. "Your eyes were beautiful, and they still are. Your eyes are what kept me alive in Mossad, what kept me searching in Ireland, for Kathleen. You have her eyes-"

"So I've been told." He chuckled softly, reaching for her bag. She gave it to him, silent, watching as he rummaged around and pulled out the last photograph taken of his mother. He and Sarah, still children, stared back at him; Kathleen's bright green eyes glowed with love and mirth and... life. Frozen in time, he could picture her as she'd been that day; happy, loving, young and energetic and free. In this single photograph, she was forever beautiful and alive and the mother he remembered. The woman who would teach him and Sarah to bake, who would wear old-fashioned clothing and sing Irish lullabies. The woman who unwillingly went to her death that night on the Cliffs, who died protecting her children as best she could. "You have no idea how much I _miss her_..."

"Yes, I do." He met her gaze, confused. "I lost my mother, when I was thirteen. She died..." Ziva struggled to swallow against the lump in her throat. "of cancer, not long after she and my father divorced. I blamed myself for years," She swallowed hard. "I thought I had been the reason she got cancer, that I was the reason they divorced. Only recently did I finally learn to accept that I was not to blame."

"I'm sorry." She gave him a soft, sad smile, and reached out for him, laying a hand on his arm.

"You are not to blame for her death. You are not to blame for her mental state, before she died. You are not to blame for Fiona murdering her." She moved closer, until their knees brushed. Silently, she leaned closer, obscuring the photograph as she tried to look into his beautiful green eyes. "_You_ are _not_ the _reason_ she died."

He shook his head. "No, I-"

She reached out, taking the photograph and laying it gently on the table before reaching up and taking his face in her hands. Tears swam in his emerald gaze, and she struggled to keep from breaking down herself, despite the mist forming in her own dark eyes. "It is not your fault. You are_ not to blame_, Timothy."

He shook his head, finally, fully breaking down. She wrapped her arms tight around him, holding him close as he buried his face in her neck, letting the heartache and blame he'd carried for fifteen years finally come crashing down off his shoulders.


	34. Chapter 34

******Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

******A/N: I was going to end it at 33, but I don't think Kathleen wants me to. Not yet, anyway.**

He glanced over his shoulder; Ziva was sound asleep on the sofa, a blanket over her. It had been a long and stressful day, for them both. He hadn't wanted to bring her back to the apartment, he'd wanted the place to himself, to sort out the sordid and forgotten stories of his past, yet when she'd told him she hadn't thought of a place to stay, he'd seen no other choice. She had given him back his mother, had cleared her name and proven that Kathleen hadn't jumped to her death, that she'd been pushed. Ziva had given his family back the one thing they'd been without for years, though none of them had known it: their name.

She had given them back their good name.

Sighing, he turned back to the things she had collected on her journey in Ireland. The portrait would find its rightful place on the shelf by his desk; his mother's books would reside in his bedroom, where he could read their beautiful words each night. His mother's locket now resided at its rightful place, around his neck, close to his heart. He had studied his mother's will- her true, rightful will- and discovered that Ziva was right; everything Kathleen owned, everything she earned- her belongings, the royalties from her books- were to go to her husband and children upon her death. That simple fact came fifteen years too late.

He lifted up the worn and crinkled pages that had been wrapped around the box. This was the thing that hurt the most. For these were the first pages of his mother's final manuscript.

They were Kathleen's last words to her children.

Smoothing them out, he squinted to read his mother's delicate, cursive scrawl. He sighed; he didn't want to read this, these were his mother's final words, but his curiosity was too strong. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back at Ziva, and finding she was still asleep, began to read.

_Her heart began to beat in time with the pounding of the rain. Though everyone in the house slept, she alone remained awake, watching through the chilled rain for the man who would never return. Four years had passed since he boarded that beautiful ship, bound for America, carrying with her the dreams of thousands who hoped to start anew in a new land._ _Four years since that ship had gone to a watery grave in the middle of the Atlantic, taking with her the dreams of every man, woman and child looking for a new life, and had instead, found a new place to rest their poor bones. That same ship had taken her beloved, leaving her a widow before she ever had a chance to become a wife. And now, with the world at war, she found what little heart she had left turning black and cold._

_"Ye were to come for me. Ye were not supposed to leave me..." She got up, moving from the window and grabbing her cloak. She pulled it on, and then rushed down the stairs, not caring that she awoke those sleeping peacefully within the house, only caring to get away from the home that was stifling her._

He took a deep breath, continuing to read through the first chapter and into the second, despite the tears clouding his vision. As he reached the last page of the second chapter, he found that Kathleen had done more than just written the first chapters of her last novel, she had opened up a new beginning.

_She followed the crying, searching through the rain and fog as she rushed towards the cliffs._ _Those beautiful, dangerous, jagged cliffs beckoned to her, drawing her closer and closer, sending the wail of a child towards her before pulling away and leaving her lost. Just when she thought she had found the source of the wailing, the wind and rain would take it away again. So she kept walking, keeping an eye out for the child lost and abandoned on the cliffs. _

_Suddenly, the cry came back loud and clear, and she turned, squinting through the fog. Aha! There he was! She pulled her cloak closer to her small frame, rushing towards the child, sitting on the ground._ _As she got closer, the child's cries got louder, and he tried to crawl away from her, but she slowed, kneeling in front of him. "'tis all right. I will not hurt ye, I promise." She reached out a hand, waiting patiently as the child- no more than four at most- moved closer to her, rubbing his eyes. "What tis yer name, wee one?" Her whisper was soft. The young boy sniffled, choking on a sob, his blonde curls wet, his clothing soaked thru to the skin. He watched her, fresh tears sliding down his cheeks and mixing with the rain._

_"T... Tibothy." He choked out, finally taking her hand. She drew him closer, into her embrace, wrapping her cloak around him._

_"Timothy." She whispered the name, her tongue caressing the word like the sweetest of kisses. He looked up at her, bright green eyes full of fear. Suddenly, she found herself drawn to the boy, finding a reason to live, to continue on with her life. "Where is yer Ma, Timothy?" She asked softly, brushing his blonde curls out of his eyes. He sniffled, and pointed towards the cliffs._

_"She ranned away." He started to cry again, and this time, she stood, holding him close._

_"Shh. Hush, Timothy, hush my love." Keeping her cloak tight around them both, she began to sway, rocking gently back and forth, humming a soft lullaby to quiet his tears. When he finally quieted down, she pulled away, looking into his beautiful face. "My name is Aisling." She reached up, brushing a tear off his cheek gently. "Now, let us get ye home. I will take care of ye. 'twill be a new beginning, for both of us, my Timothy, I promise."_

He sniffled, the tears slipping slowly down his cheeks. Her promise was there, in black and white. And because of Fiona, she hadn't been able to act on it. Her promise had been broken, thanks to his aunt's selfish hate.

A hand on his shoulder sent him jumping, and he turned, to see Ziva standing behind him, the blanket around her. "Are you okay? You are crying." She reached over, gently catching his tears. A moment passed, before he sniffled and nodded, giving her a small smile.

"I'm okay, Ziva, I promise. I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry." She shook her head. He stood, pulling on his jacket and grabbing the small wooden box before going to the door.

"Where are you going?" He turned back to her.

"I'll be back soon, there's just something I have to do, first." Then he was gone. As the door closed behind him, she turned back to the table, reaching out and gently picking up the last page of the second chapter.


End file.
